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On  the  Art  of  Reading 


By 

Sir  Arthur  Quiller-Couch,  M.A. 

Fellow'  of  Jesus  College 

King  Edward  VII  Professor  of  English  Literature 

in  the  University  of  Cambridge 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 

XLbc    ftnichecbocl;er   press 

1920 


Copyright,   1920 

BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Ei 'CLrSH,  \ 


H.  F.  S. 

AND 

H.  M.  C. 


430525 


PREFACE 

•T^E  following  twelve  lectures  have  this  much  in  com- 
"■"  mon  with  a  previous  twelve  published  in  191 6 
under  the  title  On  the  Art  of  Writing — they  form  no 
compact  treatise  but  present  their  central  idea  as  I 
was  compelled  at  the  time  to  enforce  it,  amid  the 
dust  of  skirmishing  with  opponents  and  with  practical 
difficulties. 

They  cover — and  to  some  extent,  by  reflection, 
chronicle — a  period  diu*ing  which  a  few  friends,  who 
had  an  idea  and  believed  in  it,  were  fighting  to  estab- 
lish the  present  English  Tripos  at  Cambridge.  In  the 
end  we  carried  our  proposals  without  a  vote:  but  the 
opposition  was  stiff  for  a  while ;  and  I  feared,  on  starting 
to  read  over  these  pages  for  the  press,  that  they  might 
be  too  occasional  and  disputatious.  I  am  happy  to 
think  that,  on  the  whole,  they  are  not;  and  that  the 
reader,  though  he  may  wonder  at  its  discursiveness, 
will  find  the  argument  pretty  free  from  polemic.  Any 
one  who  has  inherited  a  library  of  17th  century  theology 
will  agree  mth  me  that,  of  all  dust,  the  ashes  of  dead 
controversies  afford  the  driest. 

And  after  all,  and  though  it  be  well  worth  while  to 
strive  that  the  study  of  English  (of  our  own  literature, 
and  of  the  art  of  using  our  own  language,  in  speech 
or  in  writing,  to  the  best  purpose)  shall  take  an  hon- 


VI 


Preface 


Durable  place  among  the  schools  of  a  great  university, 
that  the  other  fair  sisters  of  learning  shall 

Ope  for  thee  their  queenly  circle     .     .     . 

it  is  not  in  our  universities  that  the  general  redemption 
of  EngHsh  will  be  won;  nor  need  a  mistake  here  or 
there,  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge  or  London,  prove  fatal. 
We  make  our  discoveries  through  our  mistakes:  we 
watch  one  another's  success :  and  where  there  is  freedom 
to  experiment  there  is  hope  to  improve.  A  youth  who 
can  command  means  to  enter  a  university  can  usually 
command  some  range  in  choosing  which  university  it 
shall  be.  If  Cambridge  cannot  supply  what  he  wants, 
or  if  our  standard  of  training  be  low  in  comparison 
with  that  of  Oxford,  or  of  London,  or  of  Manchester,  the 
pressure  of  neglect  will  soon  recall  us  to  our  senses. 
y^The  real  battle  for  English  lies  in  our  Elementary 
Schools,  and  in  the  training  of  our  Elementary  Teachers. 
It  is  there  that  the  foundations  of  a  sound  national 
teaching  in  English  will  have  to  be  laid,  as  it  is  there 
that  a  wrong  trend  will  lead  to  incurable  issues.^  For 
the  poor  child  has  no  choice  of  schools,  and  the  ele- 
mentary teacher,  whatever  his  individual  gifts,  will 
work  under  a  yoke  imposed  upon  him  by  Whitehall, 
I  devoutly  trust  that  Whitehall  will  make  the  yoke  easy 
and  adaptable  while  insisting  that  the  chariot  must  be 
drawn. 

I  foresee,  then,  these  lectures  condemned  as  the 
utterances  of  a  man  who,  occupying  a  chair,  has  con- 
trived to  fall  betwixt  two  stools.    My  thoughts  have  too 


Preface 


Vll 


often  strayed  from  my  audience  in  a  university  theatre 
away  to  remote  rural  class-rooms  where  the  hungry 
sheep  look  up  and  are  not  fed;  to  piteous  groups  of 
urchins  standing  at  attention  and  chanting  The  Wreck  of 
the  Hesperus  in  unison.  Yet  to  these,  being  tied  to  the 
place  and  the  occasion,  I  have  brought  no  real  help. 

A  man  has  to  perform  his  task  as  it  comes.  But  I 
must  say  this  in  conclusion.  Could  I  wipe  these  lec- 
tures out  and  re-write  them  in  hope  to  benefit  my 
countrymen  in  general,  I  should  begin  and  end  upon 
the  text  to  be  found  in  the  twelfth  and  last — that  a 
liberal  education  is  not  an  appendage  to  be  purchased 
by  a  few:  that  Humanism  is,  rather,  a  quality  which 
can,  and  should,  condition  all  our  teaching ;  which  can, 
and  should,  be  impressed  as  a  character  upon  it  all,  from 
a  poor  child's  first  lesson  in  reading  up  to  a  tutor's  last 
word  to  his  pupil  on  the  eve  of  a  Tripos. 

Arthur  Quiller-Couch. 

July  7,  1920. 


CONTENTS 

page 

Introductory           

I 

Apprehension  versus  Comprehension 

21 

Children's  Reading  (I)    . 

39 

(II)   .... 

56 

On  Reading  for  Examinations 

77 

On  a  School  of  English    .... 

99 

The  Value  of  Greek  and  Latin  in  English 

Literature 

120 

On  Reading  the  Bible     (I)       . 

141 

(II)      . 

162 

(Ill)      . 

182 

Of  Selection 

207 

On  the  Use  of  Masterpieces   .         .         .         . 

224 

Index       

245 

INTRODUCTORY 


IN  the  third  book  of  the  Ethics,  and  in  the  second 
chapter,  Aristotle,  deaUng  with  certain  actions 
which,  though  bad  in  themselves,  admit  of  pity  and 
forgiveness  because  they  were  committed  involuntarily, 
through  ignorance,  instances  "the  man  who  did  not 
know  a  subject  was  forbidden,  like  ^^schylus  with  the 
Mysteries,"  and  "the  man  who  only  meant  to  show 
how  it  worked,  like  the  fellow  who  let  off  the  catapult" 
(17  dai^ai  /3ovXo/J€vos   acpeivai^  oos  o  rov  KaTanlXttiv). 

I  feel  comfortably  sure,  Gentlemen,  that  in  a  previous 
course  of  lectures  On  the  Art  of  Writing,  unlike  ^s- 
chylus,  I  divulged  no  mysteries :  but  I  am  troubled  with 
speculations  over  that  man  and  the  catapult,  because  I 
really  was  trying  to  tell  you  how  the  thing  worked ;  and 
Aristotle,  with  a  reticence  which  (as  Horace  afterwards 
noted)  may  lend  itself  to  obscurity,  tells  us  neither  what 
happened  to  that  exponent  of  ballistics,  nor  to  the  en- 
gine itself,  nor  to  the  other  person. 

My  discharge,  such  as  it  was,  at  any  rate  provoked 
another  Professor  {emeritus,  learned,  sagacious,  vener- 
able) to  retort  that  the  true  business  of  a  Chair  such 
as  this  is  to  instruct  young  men  how  to  read  rather 


2  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

than   how  to  write.     Well,   be  it  so.     I  accept  the 
challenge. 

I  propose  in  this  and  some  ensuing  lectures,  to  talk 
of  the  Art  and  Practice  of  Reading,  particularly  as 
applied  to  English  Literature:  to  discuss  on  what 
ground  and  through  what  faculties  an  Author  and  his 
Reader  meet :  to  enquire  if,  or  to  what  extent,  Reading 
of  the  best  Literature  can  be  taught ;  and  supposing  it 
to  be  taught,  if  or  to  what  extent  it  can  be  examined 
upon;  with  maybe  an  interlude  or  two,  to  beguile  the 
way. 

II 

The  first  thing,  then,  to  be  noted  about  the  reading 
of  English  (with  which  alone  I  am  concerned)  is  that 
for  Englishmen  it  has  been  made,  by  Act  of  Parliament, 
compulsory. 

The  next  thing  to  be  noted  is  that  in  our  schools  and 
colleges  and  universities  it  has  been  made,  by  statute 
or  in  practice,  all  but  impossible. 

The  third  step  is  obvious — to  reconcile  what  we 
cannot  do  with  what  we  must :  and  to  that  aim  I  shall, 
under  your  patience,  direct  this  and  the  following  lec- 
ture. I  shall  be  relieved  at  all  events,  and  from  the 
outset,  of  the  doubt  by  which  many  a  Professor,  here 
and  elsewhere,  has  been  haunted:  I  mean  the  doubt 
whether  there  really  is  such  a  subject  as  that  of  which 
he  proposes  to  treat.  Anything  that  requires  so  much 
human  ingenuity  as  reading  English  in  an  English 
University  must  be  an  art. 


Introductory  3 

III 

But  I  shall  be  met,  of  course,  by  the  question,  "How 
is  the  reading  of  English  made  impossible  at  Cam- 
bridge?" and  I  pause  here  on  the  edge  of  my  subject, 
to  clear  away  that  doubt. 

It  is  no  fault  of  the  University. 

The  late  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton,  whom  some 
remember  as  an  etcher,  v/rote  a  book  which  he  entitled 
(as  I  think,  too  magniloquently)  The  Intellectual  Life. 
He  cast  it  in  the  form  of  letters — "To  an  Author  who 
kept  very  Irregular  Hours, "  "To  a  Young  Etonian  who 
thought  of  becoming  a  Cotton-spinner,"  "To  a  Young 
Gentleman  who  had  firmly  resolved  never  to  wear  any- 
thing but  a  Grey  Coat"  (but  Mr.  Hamerton  couldn't 
quite  have  meant  that).  "To  a  Lady  of  High  Culture 
who  found  it  difficult  to  associate  with  persons  of  her 
Own  Sex,"  "To  a  young  Gentleman  of  Intellectual 
Tastes,  who,  without  having  as  yet  any  particular  lady 
in  view,  had  expressed,  in  a  General  Way,  his  Determin- 
ation to  get  Married."  The  volume  is  well  worth  read- 
ing. In  the  first  letter  of  all,  addressed  "To  a  young 
Man  of  Letters  who  worked  Excessively, "  Mr.  Hamer- 
ton fishes  up  from  his  memory,  for  admonishment,  this 
salutary  instance : 

A  tradesman,  whose  business  affords  an  excellent  outlet 
for  energetic  bodily  activity,  told  me  that  having  attempted 
in  addition  to  his  ordinary  work,  to  acquire  a  foreign  lang- 
uage which  seemed  likely  to  be  useful  to  him,  he  had  been 
obliged  to  abandon  it  on  account  of  alarming  cerebral 
symptoms.     This  man  has  immense  vigour  and  energy,  but 


4  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

the  digestive  functions,  in  this  instance,  are  sluggish.  How- 
ever, when  he  abandoned  study,  the  cerebral  inconveniences 
disappeared,  and  have  never  returned  since. 


IV 

Now  we  all  know,  and  understand,  and  like  that  man : 
for  the  simple  reason  that  he  is  every  one  of  us. 

You  or  I  (say)  have  to  take  the  Modern  Languages 
Tripos,  Section  A  (English),  in  1917.^  First  of  all  (and 
rightly)  it  is  demanded  of  us  that  we  show  an  acquaint- 
ance, and  something  more  than  a  bowing  acquaintance, 
with  Shakespeare.  Very  well ;  but  next  we  have  to  write 
a  paper  and  answer  questions  on  the  outlines  of  English 
Literature  from  1350  to  1832 — almost  five  hundred 
years — ,  and  next  to  write  a  paper  and  show  particular 
knowledge  of  English  Literature  between  1700  and  1785 
— eighty-five  years.  Next  comes  a  paper  on  passages 
from  selected  English  verse  and  prose  writings — the 
Statute  discreetly  avoids  calling  them  literature — be- 
tween 1200  and  1500,  exclusive  of  Chaucer;  with  ques- 
tions on  language,  metre,  literary  history  and  literary 
criticism:  then  a  paper  on  Chaucer  with  questions  on 
language,  metre,  literary  history  and  literary  criticism : 
lastly  a  paper  on  writing  in  the  Wessex  dialect  of  Old 
English,  with  questions  on  the  cornet,  flute,  harp, 
sackbut,  language,  metre  and  literary  history. 

'  This  lecture  was  delivered  October  25,  1916.  At  that  time  I  was 
engaged  against  a  system  of  English  teaching  which  I  believed  to  be 
thoroughly  bad.  That  system  has  since  given  place  to  another,  which 
I  am  prepared  to  defend  as  a  better. 


Introductory  '  5 

Now  if  you  were  to  qualify  yourself  for  all  this  as  a 
scholar  should,  and  in  two  years,  you  would  certainly 
deserve  to  be  addressed  by  Mr.  Hamerton  as  "A  Young 
Man  of  Letters  who  worked  Excessively ' ' ;  and  to  work 
excessively  is  not  good  for  any  one.  Yet,  on  the  other 
hand,  you  are  precluded  from  using,  for  your  "cerebral 
inconveniences,"  the  heroic  remedy  exhibited  by  Mr. 
Hamerton's  enterprising  tradesman,  since  on  that 
method  you  would  not  attain  to  the  main  object  of  your 
laudable  ambition,  a  Cambridge  degree. 

But  the  matter  is  very  much  worse  than  your  Statute 
makes  it  out.  Take  one  of  the  papers  in  which  some 
actual  acquaintance  with  Literature  is  required — the 
Special  Period  from  1700  to  1785;  then  turn  to  your 
Cambridge  History  of  English  Literature,  and  you  will 
find  that  the  mere  bibliography  of  those  eighty-five 
years  occupies  something  like  five  or  six  hundred  pages 
— five  or  six  hundred  pages  of  titles  and  authors  in 
simple  enumeration !  The  brain  reels ;  it  already  suffers 
' '  cerebral  inconveniences. "  But  stretch  the  list  back  to 
Chaucer,  back  through  Chaucer  to  those  alleged  prose 
writings  in  the  Wessex  dialect,  then  forward  from  1785 
to  Wordsworth,  to  Byron,  to  Dickens,  Carlyle,  Tenny- 
son, Browning,  Meredith,  even  to  this  year  in  which 
literature  still  lives  and  engenders;  and  the  brain,  if  not 
too  giddy  indeed,  stands  as  Satan  stood  on  the  brink  of 
Chaos — 


Pondering  his  voyage;  for  no  narrow  frith 
He  had  to  cross — 


6  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

and  sees  itself,  with  him,  now  plumbing  a  vast  vacuity, 
and  anon  nigh-foundered,  "treading  the  crude  con- 
sistence." 

The  whole  business  of  reading  English  Literature  in 
two  years,  to  know  it  in  any  reputable  sense  of  the  word 
— ^let  alone  your  learning  to  write  English — is,  in  short, 
impossible.  And  the  f ramers  of  the  Statute,  recognising 
this,  have  very  sensibly  compromised  by  setting  you  to 
work  on  such  things  as  ' '  the  Outlines  of  English  Litera- 
ture" ;  which  are  not  Literature  at  all  but  are  only  what 
some  fellow  has  to  say  about  it,  hastily  summarising  his 
estimates  of  many  works,  of  which  on  a  generous  compu- 
tation he  has  probably  read  one  fifth ;  and  by  examining 
you  on  (what  was  it  all?)  "language,  metre,  literary 
history  and  literary  criticism,"  which  again  are  not 
Literature,  or  at  least  (as  a  Greek  would  say  in  his 
idiom)  escape  their  own  notice  being  Literature.  For 
English  Literature  as  I  take  it,  is  that  which  sundry  men 
and  women  have  written  memorably  in  English  about  Life. 
And  so  I  come  to  my  subject — the  art  of  reading  that, 
which  is  Literature. 


V 


I  shall  take  leave  to  leap  into  it  over  another  man's 
back,  or,  rather  over  two  men's  backs.  No  doubt  it  has 
happened  to  many  of  you  to  pick  up  in  a  happy  moment 
some  book  or  pamphlet  or  copy  of  verse  which  just  says 
the  word  you  have  unconsciously  been  listening  for, 
almost  craving  to  speak  for  yourself,  and  so  sends  you 


Introductory  7 

off  hot-foot  on  the  trail.  And  if  you  have  had  that 
experience,  it  may  also  have  happened  to  you  that,  after 
ranging,  you  returned  on  the  track  "like  faithful  hound 
returning,"  in  gratitude,  or  to  refresh  the  scent;  and 
that,  picking  up  the  book  again,  you  found  it  no  such 
wonderful  book  after  all,  or  that  some  of  the  magic  had 
faded  by  process  of  the  change  in  yourself  which  itself 
had  originated.    But  the  word  was  spoken. 

Such  a  book — pamphlet  I  rnay  call  it,  so  small  it  was, 
— fell  into  my  hands  some  ten  years  ago;  The  Aims  of 
Literary  Study — no  very  attractive  title — by  Dr.  Cor- 
son, a  distinguished  American  Professor  (and  let  me  say 
that,  for  something  more  than  ten — say  for  twenty — 
years  much  of  the  most  thoughtful  as  well  as  the  most 
thorough  work  upon  English  comes  to  us  from  America) . 
I  find,  as  I  handle  again  the  small  duodecimo  volume, 
that  my  own  thoughts  have  taken  me  a  little  w4de,  per- 
haps a  little  astray,  from  its  suggestions.  But  for 
loyalty's  sake  I  shall  start  just  where  Dr.  Corson  started, 
with  a  passage  from  Browning's  A  Death  in  the  Desert, 
supposed  (you  will  remember) — 

Supposed  of  Pamphylax  the  Antiochene 

narrating  the  death  of  St.  John  the  Evangelist,  John  of 
Patmos ;  the  narrative  interrupted  by  this  gloss : 

[This  is  the  doctrine  he  was  wont  to  teach, 
How  divers  persons  witness  in  each  man, 
Three  souls  which  make  up  one  soul :  first,  to  wit, 
A  soul  of  each  and  all  the  bodily  parts, 


8  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Seated  therein,  which  works,  and  is  What  Does, 

And  has  the  use  of  earth  and  ends  the  man 

Downward :  but,  tending  upward  for  advice. 

Grows  into,  and  again  is  grown  into 

By  the  next  soul,  which,  seated  in  the  brain, 

Useth  the  first  with  its  collected  use, 

And  feeleth,  thinketh,  willeth, — is  What  Knows: 

Which,  duly  tending  upward  in  its  turn. 

Grows  into,  and  again  is  grown  into 

By  the  last  soul,  that  uses  both  the  first, 

Subsisting  whether  they  assist  or  no. 

And,  constituting  man's  self,  is  What  Is — 

And  leans  upon  the  former 

(Mark  the  world.  Gentlemen ; — ' '  leans  upon  the  former'  * 
— leaning  back,  as  it  were  felt  by  him,  on  this  very  man 
who  had  leaned  on  Christ's  bosom,  being  loved) 

And  leans  upon  the  former,  makes  it  play, 

As  that  played  off  the  first :  and,  tending  up, 

Holds,  is  upheld  by,  God,  and  ends  the  man 

Upward  in  that  dread  point  of  intercourse, 

Nor  needs  a  place,  for  it  returns  to  Him. 

What  Does,  What  Knows,  What  Is;  three  souls,  one  man. 

I  give  the  glossa  of  Theotypas.] 

What  Does,  What  Knows,  What  Is — there  is  no  mis- 
taking what  Browning  means,  nor  in  what  degrees  of 
hierarchy  he  places  this,  that,  and  the  other.  .  .  . 
Does  it  not  strike  you  how  curiously  men  today,  with 
their  minds  perverted  by  hate,  are  inverting  that  order? 
— all  the  highest  value  set  on  What  Does — What  Knows 
suddenly  seen  to  be  of  importance,  but  only  as  import- 
ant in  feeding  the  guns,  perfecting  explosives,  collaring 


Introductory  9 

trade — all  in  the  service  of  What  Does,  of  "Get  on  or 
Get  Out,"  of  "Efficiency";  no  one  stopping  to  think 
that  "Efficiency"  is — must  be — a  relative  term!  Effi- 
cient for  what? — for  What  Does,  What  Knows  or 
perchance,  after  all,  for  What  Is?  No!  banish  the 
humanities  and  throw  everybody  into  practical  science : 
not  into  that  study  of  natural  science,  which  can  never 
conffict  with  the  "humanities"  since  it  seeks  discovery 
for  the  pure  sake  of  truth,  or  charitably  to  alleviate 
man's  lot — 

Sweetly,  rather,  to  ease,  loose  and  bind 
As  need  requires,  this  frail  fallen  humankind  .  .  . 

— but  to  invent  what  will  be  commercially  serviceable 
in  besting  your  neighbour,  or  in  gassing  him,  or  in 
slaughtering  him  neatly  and  wholesale.  But  still  the 
whisper  (not  ridiculous  in  its  day)  will  assert  itself,  that 
What  Is  comes  first,  holding  and  upheld  by  God;  still 
through  the  market  clamour  for  a  "Business  Govern- 
ment" will  persist  the  voice  of  Plato  murmuring  that, 
after  all,  the  best  form  of  government  is  government  by 
good  men :  and  the  voice  of  some  small  man  faintly  pro- 
testing, "But  I  don't  want  to  be  governed  by  business 
men;  because  I  know  them  and,  without  asking  much 
of  life,  I  have  a  hankering  to  die  with  a  shirt  on  my 
back." 

VI 

But  let  us  postpone  What  Is  for  a  moment,  and  deal 
with  What  Does  and  WJmt  Knows.     They  too,  of  course. 


lo  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

have  had  their  oppositions,  and  the  very  meaning  of  a 
University  such  as  Cambridge  its  fons,  its  origo,  its 
TO  ri  Tjv  eivai — was  to  assert  What  Knows  against 
What  Does  in  a  mediaeval  world  pranced  over  by  men-at- 
arms,  Normans,  English,  Burgundians,  Scots.  Ancil- 
lary to  Theology,  which  then  had  a  meaning  vastly 
dififerent  from  its  meaning  today,  the  University  tended 
as  portress  of  the  gate  of  knowledge — of  such  knowledge 
as  the  Church  required,  encouraged,  or  permitted — and 
kept  the  flag  of  intellectual  life,  as  I  may  put  it,  flying 
above  that  gate  and  over  the  passing  throngs  of  ' '  doers  " 
and  mailed-fisters.  The  University  was  a  Seat  oj 
Learning:  the  Colleges,  as  they  sprang  up,  were  Houses 
oJ  Learning. 

But  note  this,  which  in  their  origin  and  still  in  the 
frame  of  their  constitution,  differentiates  Oxford  and 
Cambridge  from  all  their  ancient  sisters  and  rivals. 
These  two  (and  no  third,  I  believe,  in  Europe)  were  cor- 
porations of  Teachers,  existing  for  Teachers,  governed 
by  Teachers.  In  a  Scottish  University  the  students 
by  vote  choose  their  Rector:  but  here  or  at  Oxford 
no  undergraduate,  no  Bachelor,  counts  at  all  in  the 
government,  both  remaining  alike  in  statu  pupillar, 
until  qualified  as  Masters — Magistri.  Mark  the  word, 
and  mark  also  the  title  of  one  who  obtained  what  in 
those  days  would  be  the  highest  of  degrees  (but  yet 
gave  him  no  voting  strength  above  a  Master).  He  was 
a  Professor — "Sanctae  Theologias  Professor."  To  this 
day  every  country  clergyman  who  comes  up  to  Cam- 
bridge to  record  his  non-placet,  does  so  by  virtue  of  his 


Introductory  1 1 

capacity  to  teach  what  he  learned  here — in  theory,  that 
is.  Scholars  were  included  in  College  foundations  on 
a  sort  of  pupil-teacher-supply  system:  living  in  rooms 
with  the  lordly  masters,  and  valeting  them  for  the 
privilege  of  "reading  with "  them.  We  keep  to  this  day 
the  pleasant  old  form  of  words.  Now  for  various  rea- 
sons— one  of  which,  because  it  is  closely  germane  to  my 
subject,  I  shall  particularly  examine — Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge, while  conserving  almost  intact  their  mediaeval 
frame  of  government,  with  a  hundred  other  survivals 
which  Time  but  makes,  through  endurance,  more  en- 
dearing, have,  insensibly  as  it  were,  and  across  (it  must 
be  confessed)  intervals  of  sloth  and  gross  derelection  of 
duty,  added  a  new  function  to  the  cultivation  of  learn- 
ing— that  of  furnishing  out  of  youth  a  succession  of 
men  capable  of  fulfilling  high  offices  in  Church  and 
State. 

Some  may  regret  this.  I  think  many  of  us  must 
regret  that  a  deeper  tincture  of  learning  is  not  required 
of  the  average  pass-man,  or  injected  into  him  perforce. 
But  speaking  roughly  about  fact,  I  should  say  that 
while  we  elders  up  here  are  required — nay,  presumed — 
to  know  certain  things,  we  aim  that  our  young  men 
shall  be  of  a  certain  kind ;  and  I  see  no  cause  to  disown  a 
sentence  in  the  very  first  lecture  I  had  the  honour  of 
reading  before  you — "The  man  we  are  proud  to  send 
forth  from  our  Schools  will  be  remarkable  less  for  some- 
thing he  can  take  out  of  his  wallet  and  exhibit  for  know- 
ledge, than  for  being  something,  and  that  something 
recognisable  for  a  man  of  unmistakable  intellectual 


12  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

breeding,   whose  trained  judgment  we  can  trust  to 
choose  the  better  and  reject  the  worse." 

The  reasons  which  have  led  our  older  universities  to 
deflect  their  functions  (whether  for  good  or  ill)  so  far 
from  their  first  purpose  are  complicated  if  not  many. 
Once  admit  young  men  in  large  numbers,  and  youth 
(I  call  any  Dean  or  Tutor  to  witness)  must  be  com- 
promised with;  will  construe  the  laws  of  its  seniors  in 
its  own  way,  now  and  then  breaking  them;  and  will  in- 
evitably end  by  getting  something  of  its  own  way.  The 
growth  of  gymnastic,  the  insensible  gravitation  of  the 
elderly  towards  Fenner's — there  to  snatch  a  fearful  joy 
and  explain  that  the  walk  was  good  for  them ;  the  Union 
and  other  debating  societies ;  College  rivalries ;  the  fes- 
tivities of  May  Week ;  the  invasion  of  women  students : 
all  these  may  have  helped.  But  I  must  dwell  discreetly 
on  one  compelling  and  obvious  cause — the  increased 
and  increasing  unwieldiness  of  Knowledge.  And  that  is 
the  main  trouble,  as  I  guess. 


VII 


Let  us  look  it  fair  in  the  face :  because  it  is  the  main 
practical  difficulty  with  which  I  propose  that,  in  suc- 
ceeding lectures,  we  grapple.  Against  Knowledge  I 
have,  as  the  light  cynic  observed  of  a  certain  lady's  past, 
only  one  serious  objection — that  there  is  so  much  of  it. 
There  is  indeed  so  much  of  it  that  if  with  the  best  wiU 
in  the  world  you  devoted  yourself  to  it  as  a  mere  scholar, 
you  could  not  possibly  digest  its  accumulated  and  still 


Introductory  13 

accumulating  stores.  As  Sir  Thomas  Elyot  wrote  in  the 
sixteenth  century  (using,  you  will  observe,  the  very 
word  of  Mr.  Hamerton's  energetic  but  fed-up  trades- 
man), "Inconveniences  always  doe  happen  by  ingurgi- 
tation  and  excessive  feedings. "  An  old  schoolmaster 
and  a  poet — Mr.  James  Rhoades,  late  of  Sherborne — 
comments  in  words  which  I  will  quote,  being  unable  to 
better  them : 

This  is  no  less  true  of  the  mind  than  of  the  body.  I  do  not 
know  that  a  well-informed  man,  as  such,  is  more  worthy  of 
regard  than  a  well-fed  one.  The  brain,  indeed,  is  a  nobler 
organ  than  the  stomach,  but  on  that  very  account  is  the 
less  to  be  excused  for  indulging  in  repletion.  The  tempta- 
tion, I  confess,  is  greater,  because  for  the  brain  the  banquet 
stands  ever  spread  before  our  eyes,  and  is,  unhappily,  as 
indestructible  as  the  widow's  meal  and  oil. 

Only  think  what  would  become  of  us  if  the  physical  food, 
by  which  our  bodies  subsist,  instead  of  being  consumed  by 
the  eater,  was  passed  on  intact  by  every  generation  to  the 
next,  with  the  superadded  hoards  of  all  the  ages,  the  earth's 
productive  power  meanwhile  increasing  year  by  year 
beneath  the  unflagging  hand  of  Science,  till,  as  Comus  says, 
she 

would  be  quite  surcharged  with  her  own  weight 
And  strangled  with  her  waste  fertility. 

Should  we  rather  not  pull  down  our  barns,  and  build  smaller, 
and  make  bonfires  of  what  they  would  not  hold?  And  yet, 
with  regard  to  Knowledge,  the  very  opposite  of  this  is  what 
we  do.  We  store  the  whole  religiously,  and  that  though  not 
twice  alone,  as  with  the  bees  in  Virgil,  but  scores  of  times  in 
every  year,  is  the  teeming  produce  gathered  in.  And  then 
we  put  a  fearful  pressure  on  ourselves  and  others  to  gorge 
of  it  as  much  as  ever  we  can  hold. 


14  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Facit  indignatio  versus.  My  author,  gathering  heat, 
puts  it  somewhat  dithyrambically :  but  there  you  have 
it,  Gentlemen. 

If  you  crave  for  Knowledge,  the  banquet  of  Know- 
ledge grows  and  groans  on  the  board  until  the  finer 
appetite  sickens.  If,  still  putting  all  your  trust  in  Know- 
ledge, you  try  to  dodge  the  difficulty  by  specialising,  you 
produce  a  brain  bulging  out  inordinately  on  one  side, 
on  the  other  cut  fiat  down  and  mostly  paralytic  at  that : 
and  in  short  so  long  as  I  hold  that  the  Creator  has  an 
idea  of  a  man,  so  long  shall  I  be  sure  that  no  uneven 
specialist  realises  it.  The  real  tragedy  of  the  Library  at 
Alexandria  was  not  that  the  incendiaries  burned  im- 
mensely, but  that  they  had  neither  the  leisure  nor  the 
taste  to  discriminate. 

VIII 

The  old  schoolmaster  whom  I  quoted  just  now  goes 
on: 

I  believe,  if  the  truth  were  known,  men  would  be  as- 
tonished at  the  small  amount  of  learning  with  which  a  high 
degree  of  culture  is  compatible.  In  a  moment  of  enthusiasm 
I  ventured  once  to  tell  my  "English  set"  that  if  they  cotild 
really  master  the  ninth  book  of  Paradise  Lost,  so  as  to  rise 
to  the  height  of  its  great  argument  and  incorporate  all  its 
beauties  in  themselves,  they  would  at  one  blow,  by  virtue 
of  that  alone,  become  highly  cultivated  men.  .  .  .  More 
and  more  various  learning  might  raise  them  to  the  same 
height  by  different  paths,  but  could  hardly  raise  them  higher. 

Here  let  me  interpose  and  quote  the  last  three  lines  of 
that  Book — three  lines  only ;  simple,  unornamented,  but 


Introductory  15 

for  all  men  and   women  who  have    dwelt   together 
since  our  first  parents,  in  mere  statement  how  wise! 

Thus  they  in  mutual  accusation  spent 

The  fruitless  hours,  but  neither  self-condemning; 

And  of  their  vain  contest  appear'd  no  end. 

A  parent  afterwards  told  me  (my  schoolmaster  adds)  that 
his  son  went  home  and  so  buried  himself  in  the  book  that 
food  and  sleep  that  day  had  no  attraction  for  him.  Next 
morning,  I  need  hardly  say,  the  difference  in  his  appearance 
was  remarkable:  he  had  outgrown  all  his  intellectual  clothes. 

The  end  of  this  story  strikes  me,  I  confess,  as  vapid, 
and  may  be  compared  with  that  of  the  growth  of 
Delian  Apollo  in  the  Homeric  hymn;  but  we  may 
agree  that,  in  reading,  it  is  not  quantity  so  much  that 
tells,  as  quality  and  thoroughness  of  digestion. 

IX 

What  Does — What  Knows — What  Is.  .  .  . 

I  am  not  likely  to  depreciate  to  you  the  value  of  What 
Does,  after  spending  my  first  twelve  lectures  up  here,  on 
the  art  and  practice  of  Writing,  encouraging  you  to  do 
this  thing  which  I  daily  delight  in  trying  to  do :  as  God 
forbid  that  any  one  should  hint  a  slightening  word  of 
what  our  sons  and  brothers  are  doing  just  now,  and 
doing  for  us !  But  Peace  being  the  normal  condition  of 
man's  activity,  I  look  around  me  for  a  vindication  of 
what  is  noblest  in  What  Does  and  am  content  with  a 
passage  from  George  Eliot's  poem  Stradivarius,  the  gist 


i6  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

of  which  is  that  God  himself  might  conceivably  make 
better  fiddles  than  Stradivari's,  but  by  no  means  cer- 
tainly; since,  as  a  fact,  God  orders  his  best  fiddles  of 
Stradivari,    Says  the  great  workman, 

"God  be  praised, 
Antonio  Stradivari  has  an  eye 
That  winces  at  false  work  and  loves  the  true, 
With  hand  and  arm  that  play  upon  the  tool 
As  willingly  as  any  singing  bird 
Sets  him  to  sing  his  morning  roundelay, 
Because  he  likes  to  sing  and  likes  the  song. " 
Then  Naldo:  "  'Tis  a  pretty  kind  of  fame 
At  best,  that  comes  of  making  violins ; 
And  saves  no  masses,  either.     Thou  wilt  go 
To  purgatory  none  the  less. " 

But  he: 
"  'Twere  purgatory  here  to  make  them  ill; 
And  for  my  fame — when  any  master  holds 
'Twixt  chin  and  hand  a  violin  of  mine, 
He  will  be  glad  that  Stradivari  lived, 
Made  violins,  and  made  them  of  the  best. 
The  masters  only  know  whose  work  is  good : 
They  will  choose  mine,  and  while  God  gives  them  skill 
I  give  them  instruments  to  play  upon, 
God  choosing  me  to  help  Him. " 

"What!    Were  God 
At  fault  for  violins,  thou  absent?" 

"Yes; 
He  were  at  fault  for  Stradivari's  work. " 
"Why,  many  hold  Guiseppe's  violins 
As  good  as  thine." 

"May  be:  they  are  different. 
His  quality  declines :  he  spoils  his  hand 
With  over-drinking.    But  were  his  the  best, 
He  could  not  work  for  two.    My  work  is  mine. 
And  heresy  or  not,  if  my  hand  slacked 


Introductory  17 

I  should  rob  God — since  He  is  fullest  good — 
Leaving  a  blank  instead  of  violins. 
I  say,  not  God  Himself  can  make  man's  best 
Without  best  men  to  help  him.  .  .  . 

'Tis  God  gives  skill. 
But  not  without  men's  hands :  He  could  not  make 
Antonio  Stradivari's  violins 
Without  Antonio.     Get  thee  to  thy  easel. " 

So  much  then  for  What  Does;  I  do  not  depreciate  it. 

X 

Neither  do  I  depreciate — in  Cambridge,  save  the 
mark! — What  Knows.  All  knowledge  is  venerable;  and 
I  suppose  you  will  find  the  last  vindication  of  the 
scholar's  life  at  its  baldest  in  Browning's  A  Gram- 
marian's Funeral: 

Others  mistrust  and  say,  "But  time  escapes: 

Live  now  or  never!" 
He  said,  "What's  time?    Leave  Now  for  dog  and  apes! 

Man  has  Forever. " 
Back  to  his  book  then ;  deeper  drooped  his  head : 

Calculus  racked  him : 
Leaden  before,  his  eyes  grew  dross  of  lead: 

Tussis  attacked  him  .  .  . 
So,  with  the  throttling  hands  of  death  at  strife, 

Ground  he  at  grammar; 
Still,  thro'  the  rattle,  parts  of  speech  were  rife: 

While  he  could  stammer 
He  settled  Holt's  business — let  it  be ! — 

Properly  based  Oim — 
Gave  us  the  doctrine  of  the  enclitic  De, 

Dead  from  the  waist  down. 


i8  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Well,  here's  the  platform,  here's  the  proper  place: 

Hail  to  your  purlieus, 
All  ye  highfliers  of  the  feathered  race. 

Swallows  and  curlews! 
Here's  the  top-peak;  the  multitude  below 

Live,  for  they  can,  there: 
This  man  decided  not  to  Live  but  Know — 

Bury  this  man  there. 

Nevertheless  Knowledge  is  not,  cannot  be,  every- 
thing; and  indeed,  as  a  matter  of  experience,  cannot 
even  be  counted  upon  to  educate.  Some  of  us  have 
known  men  of  extreme  learning  who  yet  are,  some  of 
them,  uncouth  in  conduct,  others  violent  and  over- 
bearing in  converse,  others  unfair  in  controversy,  others 
even  unscrupulous  in  action — men  of  whom  the  sophist 
Thrasymachus  in  Plato's  Republic  may  stand  for  the 
general  type.  Nay,  some  of  us  will  subscribe  with 
the  old  schoolmaster  whom  I  will  quote  again,  when 
he  writes: 

To  myself  personally,  as  an  exception  to  the  rule  that 
opposites  attract,  a  very  well-informed  person  is  an  object 
of  terror.  His  mind  seems  to  be  so  full  of  facts  that  you 
cannot,  as  it  were,  see  the  wood  for  the  trees;  there  is  no 
room  for  perspective,  no  lawns  and  glades  for  pleasure  and 
repose,  no  vistas  through  which  to  view  some  towering  hill 
or  elevated  temple ;  everything  in  that  crowded  space  seems 
of  the  same  value :  he  speaks  with  no  more  awe  of  King  Lear 
than  of  the  last  Cobden  prize  essay ;  he  has  swallowed  them 
both  with  the  same  ease,  and  got  the  facts  safe  in  his  pouch ; 
but  he  has  no  time  to  ruminate  because  he  must  still  be 
swallowing;  nor  does  he  seem  to  know  what  even  Macbeth, 
with  Banquo's  murderers  then  at  work,  found  leisure  to 


Introductory  19 

remember — that  good  digestion  must  wait  on  appetite,  if 
health  is  to  follow  both. 

Now  that  may  be  put  a  trifle  too  vivaciously,  but  the 
moral  is  true.  Bacon  tells  us  that  reading  maketh  a  full 
man.  Yes,  and  too  much  of  it  makes  him  too  full.  The 
two  words  of  the  Greek  upon  knowledge  remain  true, 
that  the  last  triumph  of  Knowledge  is  Know  Thyself. 
So  Don  Quixote  repeats  it  to  Sancho  Panza,  counselling 
him  how  to  govern  his  Island : 

First,  O  son,  thou  hast  to  fear  God,  for  in  fearing  Him  is 
wisdom,  and  being  wise  thou  canst  not  err. 

But  secondly  thou  hast  to  set  thine  eyes  on  what  thou  art, 
endeavouring  to  know  thyself — which  is  the  most  difficult 
knowledge  that  can  he  conceived. 

But  to  know  oneself  is  to  know  that  which  alone  can 
know  What  Is.     So  the  hierarchy  runs  up. 

XI 

What  Does,  What  Knows,  What  Is.  .  .  . 

I  have  happily  left  myself  no  time  to-day  to  speak  of 
What  Is:  happily,  because  I  would  not  have  you  even 
approach  it  towards  the  end  of  an  hour  when  your 
attention  must  be  languishing.  But  I  leave  you  with 
two  promises,  and  with  two  sayings  from  which  as  this 
lecture  took  its  start  its  successors  will  proceed. 

The  first  promise  is,  that  What  Is,  being  the  spiritual 
element  in  man,  is  the  highest  object  of  his  study. 

The  second  promise  is  that,  nine  tenths  of  what  is 


20  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

worthy  to  be  called  Literature  being  concerned  with 
this  spiritual  element,  for  that  it  should  be  studied,  from 
firstly  up  to  ninthly,  before  anything  else. 

And  my  two  quotations  are  for  you  to  ponder : 

(i)  This,  first: 

That  all  spirit  is  mutually  attractive,  as  all  matter  is 
mutually  attractive,  is  an  ultimate  fact  beyond  which  we 
cannot  go.  .  .  .  Spirit  to  spirit — as  in  water  face  answereth 
to  face,  so  the  heart  of  man  to  man. 

(2)  And  this  other,  from  the  writings  of  an  obscure 
Welsh  clergyman  of  the  seventeenth  century : 

You  will  never  enjoy  the  world  aright  till  the  sea  itself 
floweth  in  your  veins,  till  you  are  clothed  with  the  heavens 
and  crowned  with  the  stars. 


APPREHENSION  VERSUS 
COMPREHENSION 


f  ET  US  attempt  to-day,  Gentlemen,  picking  up  the 
scent  where  we  left  at  the  conclusion  of  my  first 
lecture,  to  hunt  the  Art  of  Reading  (as  I  shall  call  it) , 
a  little  further  on  the  line  of  common-sense ;  then  to  cast 
back  and  chase  on  a  line  somewhat  more  philosophical. 
If  these  lines  run  wide  and  refuse  to  unit  e,  we  shall  have 
made  a  false  cast:  if  they  converge  and  meet,  we  shall 
have  caught  our  hare  and  may  proceed,  in  subsequent 
lectures,  to  cook  him. 

Well,  the  line  of  common-sense  has  brought  us  to 
this  point — that,  man  and  this  planet  being  such  as  they 
are,  for  a  man  to  read  all  the  books  existent  on  it  is  im- 
possible ;  and,  if  possible,  would  be  in  the  highest  degree 
undesirable.  Let  us,  for  example,  go  back  quite  beyond 
the  invention  of  printing  and  try  to  imagine  a  man  who 
had  read  all  the  rolls  destroyed  in  the  Library  of  Alex- 
andria by  successive  burnings.  (Some  reckon  the  num- 
ber of  these  MSS.  at  700,000.)  Suppose,  further,  this 
man  to  be  gifted  with  a  memory  retentive  as  Lord 
Macaulay's.  Suppose  lastly  that  we  go  to  such  a  man 
and  beg  him  to  repeat  to  us  some  chosen  one  of  the 


22  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

fifty  or  seventy  lost,  or  partially  lost,  plays  of  Euripides. 
It  is  incredible  that  he  could  gratify  us. 

There  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  great  burning  at  Alex- 
andria in  47  B.C.,  when  Caesar  set  the  fleet  in  the  harbour 
on  fire  to  prevent  its  falling  into  the  hands  of  the 
Egyptians.  The  flames  spread,  and  the  great  library 
stood  but  400  yards  from  the  quayside,  with  warehouses 
full  of  books  yet  closer.  The  last  great  burning  was 
perpetrated  in  a.d.  642.  Gibbon  quotes  the  famous 
sentence  of  Omar,  the  great  Mohamm.edan  who  gave 
the  order:  "If  these  writings  of  the  Greeks  agree  with 
the  book  of  God,  they  are  useless  and  need  not  be  pre- 
served; if  they  disagree,  they  are  pernicious  and  ought 
to  be  destroyed, "  and  goes  on : 

The  sentence  was  executed  with  blind  obedience;  the 
volumes  of  paper  or  parchment  were  distributed  to  the  four 
thousand  baths  of  the  city;  and  such  was  their  incredible 
multitude  that  six  months  were  barely  sufficient  for  the  con- 
sumption of  this  precious  fuel.  .  .  .  The  tale  has  been 
repeatedly  transcribed;  and  every  scholar,  with  pious  indig- 
nation, has  deplored  the  irreparable  shipwreck  of  the 
learning,  the  arts,  and  the  genius,  of  antiquity.  For  my  own 
part,  I  am  strongly  tempted  to  deny  both  the  fact  and  the 
consequences. 

Of  the  consequence  he  writes : 

Perhaps  the  church  and  seat  of  the  patriarchs  might  be 
enriched  with  a  repository  of  books :  but,  if  the  ponderous 
mass  of  Arian  and  Monophysite  controversy  were  indeed 
consumed  in  the  public  baths,  a  philosopher  may  allow,  with 
a  smile,  that  it  was  ultimately  devoted  to  the  benefit  of 
mankind.     I  sincerely  regret  the  more  valuable  libraries 


Apprehension  vs.  Comprehension     23 

which  have  been  involved  in  the  ruin  of  the  Roman  empire ; 
but,  when  I  seriously  compute  the  lapse  of  ages,  the  waste 
of  ignorance,  and  the  calamities  of  war,  our  treasures,  rather 
than  our  losses,  are  the  object  of  my  surprise.  Many  curious 
and  interesting  facts  are  buried  in  oblivion :  the  three  great 
historians  of  Rome  have  been  transmitted  to  our  hands  in 
a  mutilated  state,  and  we  are  deprived  of  many  pleasing 
compositions  of  the  lyric,  iambic,  and  dramatic  poetry  of  the 
Greeks.  Yet  we  should  gratefully  remember  that  the 
mischances  of  time  and  accident  have  spared  the  classic 
works  to  which  the  suffrage  of  antiquity  had  adjudged  the 
first  place  of  genius  and  glory;  the  teachers  of  ancient 
knowledge,  who  are  still  extant,  had  perused  and  compared 
the  writings  of  their  predecessors;  nor  can  it  fairly  be  pre- 
sumed that  any  important  truth,  any  useful  discovery  in 
art  or  nature,  has  been  snatched  away  from  the  curiosity 
of  modern  ages. 

I  certainly  do  not  ask  you  to  subscribe  to  all  that.  In 
fact  when  Gibbon  asks  us  to  remember  gratefully  ' '  that 
the  mischances  of  time  and  accident  have  spared  the 
classic  works  to  which  the  suffrage  of  antiquity  has  ad- 
judged the  first  place  of  genius  and  glory,"  I  submit 
with  all  respect  that  he  talks  nonsense.  Like  the 
stranger  in  the  temple  of  the  sea-god,  invited  to  admire 
the  many  votive  garments  of  those  preserved  out  of 
shipwreck,  I  ask  ' '  at  ubi  sunt  vestimenta  eorum  qui  post 
vota  nuncupata  perierunt  ? ' ' — or  in  other  words  * '  Where 
are  the  trousers  of  the  drowned?"  "What  about  the 
Sthenohoea  of  Euripides,  the  Revellers  of  Ameipsias — 
to  which,  as  a  matter  of  simple  fact,  what  you  call  the 
suffrage  of  antiquity  did  adjudge  the  first  prize,  above 
Aristophanes's  best  ? ' ' 

But  of  course  he  is  equally  right  to  this  extent,  that 


24  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

the  fire  consumed  a  vast  deal  of  rubbish :  soHd  tons  more 
than  any  man  could  swallow, — let  be,  digest — "read, 
mark,  learn  and  inwardly  digest."  And  that  was  in 
642  A.D.,  whereas  we  have  arrived  at  191 6.  Where 
would  our  voracious  Alexandrian  be  to-day,  with  all  the 
literature  of  the  Middle  Ages  added  to  his  feast  and 
on  top  of  that  all  the  printed  books  of  450  years? 
"Reading"  says  Bacon,  "maketh  a  Full  Man."  Yes, 
indeed ! 

Now  I  am  glad  that  sentence  of  Bacon  falls  pat  here, 
because  it  gives  me,  turning  to  his  famous  Essay  Oj 
Studies  the  reinforcement  of  his  great  name  for  the  very 
argument  which  I  am  directing  against  the  fallacy  of 
those  teachers  who  would  have  you  use  "manuals"  as 
anything  else  than  guides  to  your  own  reading,  or  as 
perspective  in  which  the  authors  are  set  out  in  the 
respective  eminence  by  which  they  claim  priority  of 
study  or  indicate  the  proportions  of  a  literary  period. 
Some  of  these  manuals  are  written  by  men  of  knowledge 
so  encyclopaedic  that  (if  it  go  with  critical  judgment) 
for  these  purposes  they  may  be  trusted.  But  to  require 
you,  at  your  stage  of  reading,  to  have  even  the  minor 
names  by  heart  is  a  perversity  of  folly.  For  later  studies 
it  seems  to  me  a  more  pardonable  mistake,  but  yet  a 
mistake,  to  hope  that  by  the  employ  of  separate  special- 
ists you  can  get  even  in  fifteen  or  twenty  volumes  a 
perspective,  a  proportionate  description,  of  what  Eng- 
lish Literature  really  is.  But  worst  of  all  is  that  Ex- 
aminer, who — aware  that  you  must  please  him,  to  get  a 
good  degree,  and  being  just  as  straight  and  industrious 


Apprehension  vs.  Comprehension     25 

as  any  one  else — assumes  that  in  two  years  you  have 
become  expert  in  knowledge  that  beats  a  lifetime,  and, 
brought  up  against  the  practical  impossibility  of  this 
assumption,  questions  you — not  on  a  little  selected  first- 
hand knowledge — but  on  massed  information  which  at 
the  best  can  be  but  derivative  and  second-hand. 
Now  hear  Bacon. 

Studies  serve  for  Delight 

(Mark  it, — he  puts  delight  first.) 

Studies  serve  for  Delight,  for  Ornament,  and  for  Ability. 
Their  Chiefe  use  for  Delight,  is  in  Privatenesse  and  Retir- 
ing;^ for  Ornament,  is  in  Discourse;  and  for  Ability,  is  in  the 
Judgement  and  Disposition  of  Businesse.  ...  To  spend 
too  much  Time  in  Studies  is  Sloth;  to  use  them  too  much 
for  Ornament  is  Affectation;  to  make  Judgement  wholly 
by  their  Rules  is  the  Humour  of  a  Scholler.  They  perfect 
Nature,  and  are  perfected  by  Experience:  for  Naturall 
Abilities  are  like  Naturall  Plants,  they  need  Proyning  by 
Study.  And  Studies  themselves  doe  give  forth  Directions 
too  much  at  Large,  unless  they  be  bounded  in  by  experience. 

Again,  he  says : 

//  Some  Bookes  are  to  be  Tasted,  Others  to  be  Swallowed, 
yvand  Some  Few  to  be  Chewed  and  Digested:  that  is,  some 
/  Bookes  are  to  be  read  onely  in  Parts;  Others  to  be  read  but 

I         ^  Do  you  remember,  by  the  bye,  Samuel  Rogers's  lines  on  Lady  Jane 
Grey?    They  have  always  seemed  to  me  very  beautiful: 
Like  her  most  gentle,  most  unfortunate, 
Crown'd  but  to  die — who  in  her  chamber  sate 
Musing  with  Plato,  though  the  horn  was  blown, 
And  every  ear  and  every  heart  was  won, 
And  all  in  green  array  were  chasing  down  the  sun ! 


26  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

not  Curiously;  and  some  Few  are  to  be  read  wholly,  and 
with  Diligence  and  Attention.  Some  Bookes  also  may  be 
read  by  Deputy,  and  Extracts  made  of  them  by  Others. 
But  that  would  be  onely  in  the  lesse  important  Arguments, 
and  the  Meaner  Sort  of  Bookes:  else  distilled  Bookes  are 
like  Common  distilled  Waters,  Flashy  Things. 

So  you  see.  Gentlemen,  while  pleading  before  you 

'  that  Reading  is  an  Art — that  its  best  purpose  is  not  to 

,   accumulate  Knowledge  but  to  produce,  to  educate,  such- 

I    and-such  a  man — that  'tis  a  folly  to  bite  off  more  than 

you  can  assimilate — and  that  with  it,  as  with  every  other 

art,  the  difficulty  and  the  discipline  lie  in  selecting  out 

of  vast  material,  what  is  fit,  fine,  applicable — I  have 

the  great  Francis  Bacon  himself  towering  behind  my 

shoulder  for  patron. 

Some  would  push  the  argument  further  than — here 
and  now,  at  any  rate — I  choose  to  do,  or  perhaps  would 
at  all  care  to  do.  For  example,  Philip  Gilbert  Hamer- 
ton,  whom  I  quoted  to  you  three  weeks  ago,  instances 
in  his  book  The  Intellectual  Life  an  accomplished  French 
cook  who,  in  discussing  his  art,  comprised  the  whole 
secret  of  it  under  two  heads — the  knowledge  of  the 
mutual  influences  of  ingredients,  and  the  judicious 
management  of  heat : 

Amongst  the  dishes  for  which  my  friend  had  a  deserved 
reputation  was  a  certain  gdteau  de  foie  which  had  a  very 
exquisite  flavour.  The  principal  ingredient,  not  in  quantity 
but  in  power,  was  the  liver  of  a  fowl ;  but  there  were  several 
other  ingredients  also,  and  amongst  these  a  leaf  or  two  of 
parsley.  He  told  me  that  the  influence  of  the  parsley  was  a 
good  illustration  of  his  theory  about  his  art.    If  the  parsley 


Apprehension  vs.  Comprehension     27 

were  omitted,  the  flavour  he  aimed  at  was  not  produced  at 
all;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  quantity  of  the  parsley- 
was  in  the  least  excessive,  then  the  gateau  instead  of  being  a 
delicacy  for  gourmets  became  an  uneatable  mess.  Perceiv- 
ing that  I  was  really  interested  in  the  subject,  he  kindly 
promised  a  practical  evidence  of  his  doctrine,  and  the  next 
day  intentionally  spoiled  the  dish  by  a  trifling  addition  of 
parsley.  He  had  not  exaggerated  the  consequences;  the 
delicate  flavour  entirely  departed,  and  left  a  nauseous  bitter- 
ness in  its  place,  like  the  remembrance  of  an  ill-spent  youth. 

I  trust  that  none  of  you  are  in  a  position  to  appreciate 
the  full  force  of  this  last  simile ;  and,  for  myself,  I  should 
have  taken  the  chef's  word  for  it,  without  experiment. 
Mr.  Hamerton  proceeds  to  draw  his  moral : 

There  is  a  sort  of  intellectual  chemistry  which  is  quite  as 
marvellous  as  material  chemistry  and  a  thousand  times  more 
difficult  to  observe.  One  general  truth  may,  however,  be 
relied  upon.  ...  It  is  true  that  everything  we  learn  affects 
the  whole  character  of  the  mind. 

Consider  how  incalculably  important  becomes  the  ques- 
tion of  proportion  in  our  knowledge,  and  how  that  which  we 
are  is  dependent  as  much  upon  oiu"  ignorance  as  oiir  science. 
What  we  call  ignorance  is  only  a  smaller  proportion — what 
we  call  science  only  a  larger. 

Here  the  argument  begins  to  become  delicious : 

The  larger  quantity  is  recommended  as  an  unquestionable 
good,  but  the  goodness  of  it  is  entirely  dependent  on  the 
mental  product  that  we  want.  Aristocracies  have  always  in- 
stinctively felt  this,  and  have  decided  that  a  gentleman 
ought  not  to  know  too  much  of  certain  arts  and  sciences. 
The  character  which  they  had  accepted  as  their  ideal  Vv  ould 
have  been  destroyed  by  indiscriminate  additions  to  those 


28  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

ingredients  of  which  long  experience  had  fixed  the  exact 
proportions.  .  .  . 

The  last  generation  of  the  English  country  aristocracy 
was  particularly  rich  in  characters  whose  unity  and  charm 
was  dependent  upon  the  limitations  of  their  culture,  and 
which  would  have  been  entirely  altered,  perhaps  not  for 
the  better,  by  simply  knowing  a  science  or  a  literature  that 
was  closed  to  them. 

If  anything  could  be  funnier  than  that,  it  is  that  it  is, 
very  possibly,  true.  Let  us  end  our  quest-by-common- 
sense,  for  the  moment,  on  this;  that  to  read  all  the 
/  books  that  have  been  written — in  short  to  keep  pace 
with  those  that  are  being  written — is  starkly  impossible, 
and  (as  Aristotle  would  say)  about  what  is  impossible 
one  does  not  argue.  We  must  select.  Selection  implies 
skilful  practice.  '  Skilful  practice  is  only  another  term 
for  Art.  So  far  plain  common-sense  leads  us.  On  this 
point,  then,  let  us  set  up  a  rest  and  hark  back. 

II 

Let  us  cast  back  to  the  three  terms  of  my  first  lecture 
— What  Does,  What  knows,  What  is. 

I  shall  here  take  leave  to  recapitulate  a  brief  argument 
much  sneered  at  a  few  years  ago  when  it  was  still  fash- 
ionable to  consider  Hegel  a  greater  philosopher  than 
Plato.  Abbreviating  it  I  repeat  it,  because  I  believe  in 
it  yet  to-day,  when  Hegel  (for  causes  unconnected  with 
pure  right  and  wrong)  has  gone  somewhat  out  of  fashion 
for  a  while. 

As  the  tale,  then,  is  told  by  Plato,  in  the  tenth  book 


Apprehension  vs.  Comprehension     29 

of  The  Republic,  one  Er  the  son  of  Arminius,  a  Pam- 
phylian,  was  slain  in  battle;  and  ten  days  afterwards, 
when  they  collected  the  dead  for  burial,  his  body  alone 
showed  no  taint  of  corruption.  His  relatives,  however, 
bore  it  off  to  the  funeral  pyre ;  and  on  the  twelfth  day, 
lying  there,  he  returned  to  life,  and  he  told  them  what 
he  had  seen  in  the  other  world.  Many  wonders  he  re- 
lated concerning  the  dead,  for  example,  with  their 
rewards  and  punishments :  but  what  had  impressed  him 
as  most  wonderful  of  all  was  the  great  spindle  of  Neces- 
sity, reaching  up  to  Heaven,  with  the  planets  revolving 
around  it  in  graduated  whorls  of  width  and  spread :  yet 
all  concentric  and  so  timed  that  all  complete  the  full 
circle  punctually  together — "The  Spindle  turns  on  the 
knees  of  Necessity;  and  on  the  rim  of  each  whorl  sits 
perched  a  Siren  who  goes  round  with  it,  hymning  a 
single  note;  the  eight  notes  together  forming  one 
harmony." 

Now  as — we  have  the  divine  word  for  it — upon  two 
great  commandments  hang  all  the  law  and  the  prophets, 
so  all  religions,  all  philosophies,  hang  upon  two  stead- 
fast and  faithful  beliefs;  the  first  of  which  Plato  would 
show  by  the  above  parable. 

It  is,  of  course,  that  the  stability  of  the  Universe  rests 
upon  ordered  motion — that  the  "firmament"  above, 
around,  beneath,  stands  firm,  continues  firm,  on  a 
balance  of  active  and  tremendous  forces  somehow  har- 
moniously composed.  Theology  asks  "by  What?"  or 
* '  by  Whom  ? ' '  Philosophy  incHnes  rather  to  ask ' '  How  ? ' ' 
Natural  Science,  allowing  that  for  the  present  these 


30  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

questions  are  probably  unanswerable,  contents  itself 
with  mapping  and  measuring  what  it  can  of  the  various 
forces.  But  all  agree  about  the  harmony;  and  when  a 
Galileo  or  a  Newton  discovers  a  single  rule  of  it  for  us, 
he  but  makes  our  assurance  surer.  For  uncounted  cen- 
turies before  ever  hearing  of  Gravitation  men  knew  of 
the  sun  that  he  rose  and  set,  of  the  moon  that  she  waxed 
and  waned,  of  the  tides  that  they  flowed  and  ebbed,  all 
regularly,  at  times  to  be  predicted;  of  the  stars  that 
they  swung  as  by  clockwork  around  the  pole.  Says 
the  son  of  Sirach: 

At  the  word  of  the  Holy  One  they  will  stand  in  due  order, 
And  they  will  not  faint  in  their  watches. 

So  evident  is  this  calculated  harmony  that  men,  seeking 
to  interpret  it  by  what  was  most  harmonious  in  them- 
selves or  in  their  human  experience,  supposed  an  actual 
Music  of  the  Spheres  inaudible  to  mortals:  Plato  as 
we  see  (who  learned  of  Pythagoras)  inventing  his  Oc- 
tave of  Sirens,  perched  on  the  whorls  of  the  great 
spindle  and  intoning  as  they  spin. 

Dante  (Chaucer  copying  him  in  The  Parlement  of 
Foules)  makes  the  spheres  nine :  and   so  does  Milton : 

then  listen  I 
To  the  celestial  Sirens  harmony. 
That  sit  upon  the  nine  infolded  Sphears, 
And  sing  to  those  that  hold  the  vital  shears, 
And  turn  the  Adamantine  spindle  round 
On  which  the  fate  of  gods  and  men  is  wound. 
Such  sweet  compulsion  doth  in  musick  lie 
To  lull  the  daughters  of  Necessity, 


Apprehension  vs.  Comprehension     31 

And  keep  unsteady  Nature  to  her  law, 
And  the  low  world  in  measur'd  motion  draw 
After  the  heavenly  tune.  .  .  . 

If  the  sceptical  mind  object  to  the  word  law  as  beg- 
ging the  question  and  postulating  a  governing  intelli- 
gence with  a  governing  will — if  it  tell  me  that  when 
revolted  Lucifer  uprose  in  starlight — 

and  at  the  stars, 
Which  are  the  brain  of  heaven,  he  look'd,  and  sank. 
Around  the  ancient  track  march'd,  rank  on  rank, 
The  army  of  unalterable  law — 

he  was  merely  witnessing  a  series  of  predicable  or  in- 
variable recurrences,  I  answer  that  he  may  be  right,  it 
suffices  for  my  argument  that  they  are  recurrent,  are 
invariable,  can  be  predicted.  Anyhow  the  Universe  is 
not  Chaos  (if  it  were,  by  the  wa}^  we  should  be  unable 
to  reason  about  it  at  all) .  It  stands  and  is  renewed  upon 
a  harmony:  and  what  Plato  called  "Necessity"  is  the 
Duty — compulsory  or  free  as  you  or  I  can  conceive  it — 
the  Duty  of  all  created  things  to  obey  that  harmony,  the 
Duty  of  which  Wordsworth  tells  in  his  noble  Ode. 

Thou  dost  preserve  the  stars  from  wrong: 
And  the  most  ancient  heavens,  through  Thee,  are  fresh 
and  strong. 


Ill 


Now  the  other  and  second  great  belief  is,  that  the 
Universe,  the  macrocosm,  cannot  be  apprehended  at  all 


32  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

except  as  its  rays  converge  upon  the  eye,  brain,  soul  of 
Man,  the  microcosm:  on  you,  on  me,  on  the  tiny  per- 
cipient centre  upon  which  the  immense  cosmic  circle 
focusses  itself  as  the  sun  upon  a  burning-glass — and  he 
is  not  shrivelled  up!  Other  creatures,  he  notes,  share 
in  his  sensations;  but,  so  far  as  he  can  discover,  not  in 
his  percipience — or  not  in  any  degree  worth  measuring. 
So  far  as  he  can  discover,  he  is  not  only  a  bewildered 
actor  in  the  great  pageant  but  "the  ring  enclosing  all, " 
the  sole  intelligent  spectator.  Wonder  of  wonders,  it 
is  all  meant  for  him! 

I  doubt  if,  among  men  of  our  nation,  this  truth  was 
ever  more  clearly  grasped  than  by  the  Cambridge 
Platonists  who  taught  your  forerunners  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  But  I  will  quote  you  here  two  short 
passages  from  the  work  of  a  sort  of  poor  relation  of 
theirs,  a  humble  Welsh  parson  of  that  time,  Thomas 
Traherne — unknown  until  the  day  before  yesterday — 
from  whom  I  gave  you  one  sentence  in  my  first  lecture. 
He  is  speaking  of  the  fields  and  streets  that  were  the 
scene  of  his  childhood : 

Those  pure  and  virgin  apprehensions  I  had  from  the 
womb,  and  that  divine  light  wherewith  I  was  born,  are  the 
best  unto  this  day  wherein  I  can  see  the  Universe.  .  .  . 
The  corn  was  orient  and  immortal  wheat,  which  never 
should  be  reaped,  nor  was  ever  sown.  I  thought  it  had 
stood  from  everlasting  to  everlasting.  The  dust  and  stones 
of  the  street  were  as  precious  as  gold :  the  gates  were  at  first 
the  end  of  the  world.  The  green  trees,  when  I  saw  them 
first  through  one  of  the  gates  transported  and  ravished 
me.  .  .  .     Boys  and  girls  tumbling  in  the  street  and  playing 


Apprehension  vs.  Comprehension     33 

were  moving  jewels;  I  knew  not  that  they  were  born  or 
should  die.  .  .  . 

The  streets  were  mine,  the  temple  was  mine,  the  people 
were  mine,  their  clothes  and  gold  and  silver  were  mine,  as 
much  as  their  sparkling  eyes,  fair  skins,  and  ruddy  faces. 
The  skies  were  mine,  and  so  were  the  sun,  and  moon,  and 
stars ;  and  all  the  World  was  mine,  and  I  the  only  spectator 
and  enjoyer  of  it. 

Then: 

News  from  a  foreign  country  came, 

As  if  my  treasure  and  my  wealth  lay  there; 
So  much  it  did  my  heart  inflame, 

'Twas  wont  to  call  my  Soul  into  mine  ear; 
Which  thither  went  to  meet 
The  approaching  sweet. 
And  on  the  threshold  stood 
To  entertain  the  unknown  Good.  .  .  . 

What  sacred  instinct  did  inspire 
My  Soul  in  childhood  with  a  hope  so  strong? 

What  secret  force  moved  my  desire 
To  expect  new  joys  beyond  the  seas,  so  young? 
Felicity  I  knew 

Was  out  of  view, 

And  being  here  alone, 

I  saw  that  happiness  was  gone 
From  me !    For  this 

I  thirsted  absent  bliss, 
And  thought  that  sure  beyond  the  seas, 

Or  else  in  something  near  at  hand — 
I  knew  not  yet  (since  naught  did  please 

I  knew)  my  Bliss  did  stand. 

But  little  did  the  infant  dream 
That  all  the  treasures  of  the  world  were  by : 


34  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

And  that  himself  was  so  the  cream 

And  crown  of  all  which  round  about  did  lie. 
Yet  thus  it  was :  the  Gem, 

The  Diadem, 
The  Ring  enclosing  all 

That  stood  upon  this  earthly  ball, 
The  Heavenly  Eye, 

Much  wider  than  the  sky, 
Wherein  they  all  included  were, 

The  glorious  Soul,  that  was  the  King 
Made  to  possess  them  did  appear 

A  small  and  little  thing ! 

And  then  comes  the  noble  sentence  of  which  I  promised 
you  that  it  should  fall  into  its  place : 

You  never  enjoy  the  world  aright  till  the  sea  itself  floweth 
in  your  veins,  till  you  are  clothed  with  the  heavens  and 
crowned  with  the  stars. 

Man  in  short — you,  I,  any  one  of  us — the  heir  of  it  all! 

Tot  circa  unum  caput  tumultuantes  deos! 

Our  best  privilege  to  sing  our  short  lives  out  in  tune 
with  the  heavenly  concert — and  if  to  sing  afterwards, 
then  afterwards ! 

IV 

But  how  shall  Man  ever  attain  to  understand  and  find 
his  proper  place  in  this  Universe,  this  great  sweeping 
harmonious  circle  of  which  nevertheless  he  feels  himself 
to  be  the  diminutive  focus.  His  senses  are  absurdly 
imperfect.  His  ear  cannot  catch  any  music  the  spheres 
make;  and  moreover  there  are  probably  neither  spheres 
nor  music.    His  eye  is  so  dull  an  instrument  that  (as 


Apprehension  vs.  Comprehension     35 

Blanco  White's  famous  sonnet  reminds  us)  he  can 
neither  see  this  world  in  the  dark,  nor  ghmpse  any  of 
the  scores  of  others  until  it  falls  dark : 

If  Light  can  thus  deceive,  wherefore  not  Life? 

Yet  the  Universal  Harmony  is  meaningless  and  nothing 
to  man  save  in  so  far  as  he  apprehends  it :  and  lacking 
him  (so  far  as  he  knows)  it  utterly  lacks  the  compli- 
ment of  an  audience.  Is  all  the  great  orchestra  designed 
for  nothing  but  to  please  its  Conductor?  Yes,  if  you 
choose :  but  no,  as  I  think.  And  here  my  other  quota- 
tion : 

That  all  spirit  is  mutually  attractive,  as  all  matter  is 
mutually  attractive,  is  an  ultimate  fact.  .  .  .  Spirit  to 
spirit — as  in  water  face  answereth  to  face,  so  the  heart  of 
man  to  man. 

Yes,  and,  all  spirit  being  mutually  attractive,  far  more 
than  this!  I  preach  to  you  that,  through  help  of  eyes 
that  are  dim,  of  ears  that  are  dull,  by  instinct  of  some- 
thing yet  imdefined — call  it  soul — it  wants  no  less  a 
name — Man  has  a  native  impulse  and  attraction  and 
yearning  to  merge  himself  in  that  harmony  and  be  one 
with  it :  a  spirit  of  adoption  (as  St.  Paul  says)  whereby 
we  cry  Abba,  Father! 

And  because  ye  are  Sons,  God  hath  sent  forth  the  Spirit 
of  His  Son  into  your  hearts,  crying  Abba,  Father. 

That  is  to  say,  we  know  we  have  something  within  us 
correspondent  to  the  harmony,  and  (I  make  bold  to  say) 


36  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

unless  we  have  deadened  it  with  low  desires,  worthy  to 
join  in  it.  Even  in  his  common  daily  life  Man  is  for 
ever  seeking  after  harmony,  in  avoidance  of  chaos:  he 
cultivates  habits  by  the  clock,  he  forms  committees, 
governments,  hierarchies,  laws,  constitutions,  by  which 
(as  he  hopes)  a  system  of  society  will  work  in  tune.  But 
these  are  childish  imitations,  underplay  on  the  great 
motive : 

The  Kingdom  of  God  is  within  you. 

Quid   aliud   est   anima   quam   Deus   in   corpora   humano 
hospitans  ? 

V 

Gentlemen,  you  may  be  thinking  that  I  have  brought 
you  a  long  way  round,  that  the  hour  is  wearing  late,  and 
that  we  are  yet  far  from  the  prey  we  first  hunted  on  the 
line  of  common-sense.  But  be  patient  for  a  minute  or 
two,  for  almost  we  have  our  hand  on  the  animal. 

If  the  Kingdom  of  God,  or  anything  correspondent 
to  it,  be  within  us,  even  in  such  specks  of  dust  as  we 
separately  are,  why  that,  and  that  only,  can  be  the  light 
by  which  you  or  I  may  hope  to  read  the  universal :  that 
and  that  only,  deserves  the  name  of  "  What  Is. "  Nay, 
I  can  convince  you  in  a  moment.  Let  me  recall  a  pass- 
age of  Emerson  quoted  by  me  on  the  morning  I  first  had 
the  honour  to  address  an  audience  in  Cambridge : 

It  is  remarkable  (says  he)  that  involuntarily  we  always 
read  as  superior  beings.  Universal  history,  the  poets,  the 
romancers,  donot  in  their  stateliest  pictures  .  .  .  anywhere 


Apprehension  vs.  Comprehension     37 

make  us  feel  that  we  intrude,  that  this  is  for  better  men; 
but  rather  is  it  true  that  in  their  grandest  strokes  we  feel 
most  at  home.  All  that  Shakespeare  says  of  the  king, 
yonder  slip  of  a  boy  that  reads  in  the  comer  feels  to  be  true 
of  himself. 

It  is  remarkable,  as  Emerson  says;  and  yet,  as  we 
now  see,  quite  simple.  A  learned  man  may  patronize 
a  less  learned  one:  but  the  Kingdom  of  God  cannot 
patronize  the  Kingdom  of  God,  the  larger  the  smaller. 
There  are  large  and  small,  f  Between  the$|  two  mysteries 
of  a  harmonious  universe  and  the  inward  soul  are 
granted  to  live  among  us  certain  men  whose  minds  and 
souls  throw  out  filaments  more  delicate  than  ours, 
vibrating  to  far  messages  which  they  bring  home,  to 
report  them  to  us;  and  these  men  we  call  prophets, 
poets,  masters,  great  artists,  and  when  they  write  it,  we 
call  their  report  literature.  But  it  is  by  the  spark  in  us 
that  we  read  iOand  not  all  the  fire  of  God  that  was  in 
Shakespeare  can  dare  to  patronize  the  little  spark  in 
me.    If  it  did,  I  can  see — with  Blake — the  angelic  host 

throw  down  their  spears 
And  water  heaven  with  their  tears. 

VI 

To  nurse  that  spark,  common  to  the  king,  the  sage, 
the  poorest  child — to  fan,  to  draw  up  to  a  flame,  to 
"educate"  What  Is— to  recognize  that  it  is  divine,  yet 
frail,  tender,  sometimes  easily  tired,  easily  quenched 
under  piles  of  book-learning — to  let  it  run  at  play  very 


38  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

often,  even  more  often  to  let  it  rest  in  what  Wordsworth 
calls 

a  wise  passiveness 

passive — to  use  a  simile  of  Coventry  Patmore — as  a 
photographic  plate  which  finds  stars  that  no  telescope 
can  discover,  simply  by  waiting  with  its  face  turned 
upward — to  mother  it,  in  short,  as  wise  mothers  do 
their  children — this  is  what  I  mean  by  the  Art  of 
Reading. 

For  all  great  Literature,  I  would  lastly  observe,  is 
gentle  towards  that  spirit  which  learns  of  it.  It  teaches 
,by  apprehe?ision,  not  by  comprehension — which  is  what 
many  philosophers  try  to  do,  and,  in  trying,  break  their 
jugs  and  spill  the  contents.  Literature  understands  man 
and  of  what  he  is  capable.  Philosophy,  on  the  other 
hand,  may  not  be  "harsh  and  crabbed,  as  dull  fools  sup- 
pose, "  but  the  trouble  with  most  of  its  practitioners  is 
that  they  try  to  comprehend  the  universe.  Now  the 
man  who  could  comprehend  the  universe  would  ipso 
facto  comprehend  God,  and  be  ipso  facto  a  Super-God, 
able  to  dethrone  him,  and  in  the  arrogance  of  his  in- 
tellectual conceit  full  ready  to  make  the  attempt. 


CHILDREN'S  READING  (I) 

f  HAVE  often  wished,  Gentlemen,  that  some  more 
winning  name  could  be  found  for  the  thing  we  call 
Education;  and  I  have  sometimes  thought  wistfully 
that,  had  we  made  a  better  thing  of  it,  we  should  long 
ago  have  found  a  more  amiable,  a  blither,  name. 

For  after  all  it  concerns  the  child;  and  is  it  quite  an 
accident  that,  weaning  him  away  from  lovely  things 
that  so  lovelily  call  themselves  "love,"  "home," 
"mother,"  we  can  find  no  more  alluring  titles  for  the 
streets  into  which  we  entrap  him  than  "Educational 
Facilities, "  "  Local  Examinations, "  "  Preceptors, "  "  Pe- 
dagogues,"  "Professors,"  "Matriculations,"  "Certi- 
ficates," "Diplomas,"  "Seminaries,"  "Elementary 
or  Primary,  and  Secondary  Codes,"  "Continuation 
Classes, "  "  Reformatories, "  "  Inspectors, "  "  Local  Au- 
thorities," "Provided"  and  "Non-Provided,"  "De 
nominational "  and  "Undenominational,"  and  "D.- 
Litt. "  and  "  Mus.  Bac. "  ?  Expressive  terms,  no  doubt ! 
— but  I  ask  with  the  poet 

Who  can  track 
A  Grace's  naked  foot  amid  them  all  ? 

Take  even  such  words  as  should  be  perennially  beau- 
tiful by  connotation — words  such  as  "Academy , "  "  Mu- 

39 


40  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

seum. "  Does  the  one  (O,  Ode  on  a  Distant  Prospect  of 
«Clapham  Academy !)  call  up  visions  of  that  green  lawn 
by  Cephissus,  of  its  olives  and  plane  trees  and  the 
mirrored  statues  among  which  Plato  walked  and  held 
discourse  with  his  few?  Does  the  other  as  a  rule 
invite  to  haunts  (0  God!  O  Montreal!)  where  you  can 
be  secure  of  communion  with  Apollo  and  the  Nine? 
Answer  if  the  word  Academy  does  not  first  call  up  to 
the  mind  some  place  where  small  boys  are  crammed,  the 
word  Museum  some  place  where  bigger  game  are  stuffed  ? 

And  yet  "academy,"  "museum,"  even  "education" 
are  sound  words  if  only  we  would  make  the  things 
correspond  with  their  meanings.  The  meaning  of 
"education"  is  a  leading  out,  a  drawing-f orth ;  not  an 
imposition  of  something  on  somebody — a  catechism  or 
an  uncle — upon  the  child;  but  an  eliciting  of  what  is 
within  him.  Now,  if  you  followed  my  last  lecture,  we 
find  that  which  is  within  him  to  be  no  less,  potentially, 
than  the  Kingdom  of  God. 

I  grant  that  this  potentiality  is,  between  the  ages  of 
four  and  sixteen,  not  always,  perhaps  not  often,  evident. 
The  boy — in  Bagehot's  phrase  "the  small  apple-eating 
urchin  whom  we  know" — has  this  in  common  with  the 
fruit  for  which  he  congenitally  sins,  that  his  very  virtues 
in  immaturity  are  apt,  setting  the  teeth  on  edge,  to  be 
mistaken  for  vices.  A  writer,  to  whom  I  shall  recur, 
has  said : 

If  an  Englishman  who  had  never  before  tasted  an  apple 
were  to  eat  one  in  July,  he  would  probably  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  it  was  a  hard,  sour,  indigestible  fruit,  "con- 


Children's  Reading  41 

ceived  in  sin  and  shapen  in  iniquity,"  fit  only  to  be  con- 
signed to  perdition  (on  a  dust  heap  or  elsewhere).  But  if*, 
the  same  man  were  to  wait  till  October  and  then  eat  an 
apple  from  the  same  tree,  he  would  find  that  the  sourness 
had  ripened  into  wholesome  and  refreshing  acidity;  the 
hardness  into  firmness  of  fibre  which,  besides  being  pleasant 
to  the  palate,  makes  the  apple  "keep"  better  than  any 
other  fruit ;  the  indigestibility  into  certain  valuable  dietetic 
qualities,  and  so  on,  .  .  . 

In  other  words — trench,  manure,  hoe,  and  water 
around  your  young  tree,  and  patiently  allow  the  young 
fruit  to  develop  of  its  own  juice  from  the  root ;  your  own 
task  being,  as  the  fruit  forms,  but  to  bring  in  all  you 
can  of  air  and  sunshine  upon  it.  It  must,  as  every 
mother  and  nurse  knows,  be  coaxed  to  realize  itself,  to 
develop,  to  grow  from  its  individual  root.  It  may  be 
coaxed  and  trained.  But  the  main  secret  lies  in  en- 
couraging it  to  grow,  and,  to  that  end,  in  pouring  sun- 
shine upon  it  and  hoeing  after  each  visitation  of  tears 
parentally  induced. 

Every  child  wants  to  grow.  Every  child  wants  to 
learn.  During  his  first  year  or  so  of  life  he  fights  for 
bodily  nutriment,  almost  ferociously.  From  the  age  of 
two  or  thereabouts  he  valiantly  essays  the  conquest  of 
articulate  speech,  using  it  first  to  identify  his  father  or 
his  mother  amid  the  common  herd  of  Gentiles;  next, 
to  demand  a  more  liberal  and  varied  dietary;  anon,  as 
handmaid  of  his  imperious  will  to  learn.  This  desire, 
still  in  the  nursery,  climbs — like  dissolution  in  Words- 
worth's sonnet — from  low  to  high:  from  a  craving  to 
discover  experimentally  what  the  stomach  will  assimi- 


42  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

late  and  what  reject  up  to  a  kingly  debonair  interest  in 
teleology.  Our  young  gentleman  is  perfectly  at  ease  in 
Sion.  He  wants  to  know  why  soldiers  are  (or  were)  red, 
and  if  they  were  born  so;  whence  bread  and  milk  is 
derived,  and  would  it  be  good  manners  to  thank  the 
next  cow  for  both;  why  mamma  married  papa,  and — 
that  having  been  explained  and  thoughtfully  accepted 
as  the  best  possible  arrangement — still  thoughtfully, 
not  in  the  least  censoriously,  "why  the  All-Father 
has  not  married  yet?"  He  falls  asleep  weighing  the 
eligibility  of  various  spinsters,  church-workers,  in  the 
parish. 

His  brain  teeming  with  questions  he  asks  them  of 
impulse  and  makes  his  discoveries  with  joy.  He  passes 
to  a  school,  which  is  supposed  to  exist  for  the  purpose 
of  answering  these  or  cognate  questions  even  before 
he  asks  them:  and  behold,  he  is  not  happy!  Or,  he  is 
happy  enough  at  play,  or  at  doing  in  class  the  things 
that  should  not  be  done  in  class:  his  master  writes 
home  that  he  suffers  in  his  school  work  "from  having 
always  more  animal  spirits  than  are  required  for  his 
immediate  purposes."  What  is  the  trouble?  You 
cannot  explain  it  by  home-sickness:  for  it  attacks  day 
boys  alike  with  boarders.  You  cannot  explain  it  by 
saying  that  all  true  learning  involves  "drudgery," 
unless  you  make  that  miserable  word  a  mendicant  and 
force  it  to  beg  the  question.  "Drudgery"  is  what  you 
feel  to  he  drudgery — 

Who  sweeps  a  room,  as  for  thy  laws, 
Makes  that  and  th'  action  fine. 


Children*s  Reading  43 

— and,  anyhow,  this  child  learned  one  language — 
English,  a  most  difficult  one — eagerly.  Of  the  nursery 
through  which  I  passed  only  one  sister  wept  while 
learning  to  read,  and  that  was  over  a  scholastic  work 
entitled  Reading  Without  Tears. 

Do  you  know  a  chapter  in  Mr.  William  Canton's 
book  The  Invisible  Playmate  in  which,  as  Carlyle  dealt 
in  Sartor  Resartus  with  an  imaginary  treatise  by  an 
imaginary  Herr  Teufelsdrockh,  as  Matthew  Arnold 
in  Friendship's  Garland  with  the  imaginary  letters  of  an 
imaginary  Arminius  (Germany  in  long-past  happier 
days  lent  the  world  these  playful  philosophical  spirits) 
so  the  later  author  invents  an  old  village  grandpapa, 
with  the  grandpapa-name  of  Altegans  and  a  prose-poem 
printed  in  scarecrow  duodecimo  on  paper-bag  pages 
and  entitled  "Erster  Schulgang,"  "first  school-going," 
or  "first  day  at  school"? 

The  poem  opens  with  a  wonderful  vision  of  children;  de- 
lightful as  it  is  unexpected;  as  romantic  in  presentment  as 
it  is  commonplace  in  fact.  All  over  the  world — and  all  under 
it  too,  when  their  time  comes — the  children  are  trooping  to 
school.  The  great  globe  swings  round  out  of  the  dark  into 
the  sun;  there  is  always  morning  somewhere;  and  for  ever 
in  this  shifting  region  of  the  morning-light  the  good  Altegans 
sees  the  little  ones  afoot — shining  companies  and  groups, 
couples  and  bright  solitary  figures ;  for  they  all  seem  to  have 
a  soft  heavenly  light  about  them. 

He  sees  them  in  country  lanes  and  rustic  villages;  on 
lonely  moorlands  ...  he  sees  them  on  the  hillsides  .  .  . 
in  the  woods,  on  the  stepping-stones  that  cross  the  brook 
in  the  glen,  along  the  sea-cliffs  and  on  the  water-ribbed 
sands;  trespassing  on  the  railway  lines,  making  short  cuts 


44  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

through  the  corn,  sitting  in  the  ferry-boats ;  he  sees  them  in 
the  crowded  streets  of  smoky  cities,  in  small  rocky  islands, 
in  places  far  inland  where  the  sea  is  known  only  as  a  strange 
tradition. 

The  morning-side  of  the  planet  is  alive  with  them:  one 
hears  their  pattering  footsteps  everywhere.  And  as  the  vast 
continents  sweep  "eastering  out  of  the  high  shadow  which 
reaches  beyond  the  moon"  .  .  .  and  as  new  nations  with 
their  cities  and  villages,  their  fields,  woods,  mountains,  and 
sea-shores,  rise  up  into  the  morning-side,  lo!  fresh  troops, 
and  still  fresh  troops,  and  yet  again  fresh  troops  of  these 
school-going  children  of  the  dawn. 

What  are  weather  and  season  to  this  incessant  panorama 
of  childhood  ?  The  pigmy  people  trudge  through  the  snow 
on  moor  and  hill-side;  wade  down  flooded  roads;  are  not  to 
be  daunted  by  wind  or  rain,  frost  or  the  white  smother  of 
' '  millers  and  bakers  at  fisticuffs. "  Most  beautiful  picture  of 
all,  he  sees  them  travelling  schoolward  by  the  late  moon- 
light which  now  and  again  in  the  winter  months  precedes 
the  tardy  dawn. 

That  vision  strikes  me  as  being  poetically  true  as  well 
as  delightful :  by  which  I  mean  that  it  is  not  sentimental : 
we  know  that  it  ought  to  be  true,  that  in  a  world  well- 
ordered  according  to  our  best  wishes  for  it,  it  would  be 
naturally  true.  It  expresses  the  natural  love  of  Age, 
brooding  on  the  natural  eager  joy  of  children.  But  that 
natural  eager  joy  is  just  what  our  schools,  in  the  matter 
of  reading,  conscientiously  kill. 

In  this  matter  of  reading — of  children's  reading — 
we  stand,  just  now,  or  halt  just  now,  between  two  ways. 
The  parent,  I  believe,  has  decisively  won  back  to  the 
right  one  which  good  mothers  never  quite  forsook. 
There  was  an  interval,  lasting  from  the  early  years  of 


Children's  Reading  45 

the  last  century  until  midway  in  Queen  Victoria's  reign 
and  a  little  beyond,  when  children  were  mainly  brought 
up  on  the  assumption  of  natural  vice.  They  might 
adore  father  and  mother,  and  yearn  to  be  better  friends 
with  papa:  but  there  was  the  old  Adam,  a  quickening 
evil  spirit ;  there  were  his  imps  always  in  the  way,  con- 
found them!  I  myself  lived,  with  excellent  grand- 
parents, for  several  years  on  pretty  close  terms  with 
Hell  and  an  all-seeing  Eye ;  until  I  grew  so  utterly  weary 
of  both  that  I  have  never  since  had  the  smallest  use  for 
either.  Some  of  you  may  have  read,  as  a  curious  book, 
the  agreeable  history  called  The  Fairchild  Family,  in 
which  Mr.  Fairchild  leads  his  naughty  children  afield  to 
a  gallows  by  a  cross-road  and  seating  them  under  the 
swinging  corpse  of  a  malefactor,  deduces  how  easily 
they  may  come  to  this  if  they  go  on  as  they  have  been 
going.  The  authors  of  such  monitory  or  cautionary 
tales  understood  but  one  form  of  development,  the 
development  of  Original  Sin.  You  stole  a  pin,  and  pro- 
ceeded by  fatal  steps,  to  the  penitentiary ;  you  threw  a 
stick  at  a  pheasant,  turned  poacher,  shot  a  gamekeeper, 
and  ended  on  the  gallows.  You  were  always  Eric  and 
it  was  always  Little  by  Little  with  you.  .  .  .  Stay! 
memory  preserves  one  gem  from  a  Sunday-school 
dialogue,  one  sharp-cut  intaglio  of  childhood  springing 
fully  armed  from  the  head  of  Satan : 

Q.    Where  hast  thou  been  this  Sabbath  morning? 
A.     I  have  been  coursing  of  the  squirrel. 
Q.     Art  not  afraid  so  to  desecrate  the  Lord's  Day  with 
idle  sport  ? 


46  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

A.  By  no  means:  for  I  should  tell  you  that  I  am  an 
Atheist. 

I  forget  what  happened  to  that  boy:  but  doubtless  it 
was,  as  it  should  have  been,  something  drastic. 

The  spell  of  prohibition,  of  repression,  lies  so  strong 
upon  these  authors  that  when  they  try  to  break  away 
from  it,  to  appeal  to  something  better  than  fear  in  the 
child,  and  essay  to  amuse,  they  become  merely  silly. 
For  an  example  in  verse : 

If  Human  Beings  only  knew 

What  sorrows  Httle  birds  go  through, 

I  think  that  even  boys 
Would  never  think  it  sport  or  fun 
To  stand  and  fire  a  frightful  gun 

For  nothing  but  the  noise. 

For  another  (instructional  and  quite  a  good  memoria 
technica  so  far  as  it  goes) : 

William  and  Mary  came  next  to  the  throne: 
When  Mary  died,  there  was  William  alone. 

Now  for  a  story  of  incident. — It  comes  from  the  book 
Reading  Without  Tears,  that  made  my  small  sister  weep. 
She  did  not  weep  over  the  story,  because  she  did  not 
claim  to  be  an  angel. 

Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  donkey  that  went  into  the  sea 
with  the  little  cart  ?  .  .  .  A  lady  drove  the  cart  down  to  the 
beach.  She  had  six  children  with  her.  Three  little  ones 
sat  in  the  cart  by  her  side.  Three  bigger  girls  ran  before  the 
cart.  When  they  came  to  the  beach  the  lady  and  the  chil- 
dren got  out. 


Children's  Reading  47 

Very  good  so  far.    It  opens  like  the  story  of  Nausicaa 
[Odyssey,  Book  VI,  lines  81-86]. 

The  lady  wished  the  donkey  to  bathe  its  legs  in  the  sea,  to 
make  it  strong  and  clean.  But  the  donkey  did  not  like  to  go 
near  the  sea.  So  the  lady  bound  a  brown  shawl  over  its 
eyes,  and  she  bade  the  big  girls  lead  it  close  to  the  waves. 
Suddenly  a  big  wave  rushed  to  the  land.  The  girls  started 
back  to  avoid  the  wave,  and  they  let  go  the  donkey's  rein. 

The  donkey  was  alarmed  by  the  noise  the  girls  made,  and 
it  went  into  the  sea,  not  knowing  where  it  was  going  because 
it  was  not  able  to  see.  The  girls  ran  screaming  to  the  lady, 
crying  out,  "The  donkey  is  in  the  sea!" 

There  it  was,  going  further  and  further  into  the  sea,  till 
the  cart  was  hidden  by  the  billows.  The  donkey  sank  lower 
and  lower  every  moment,  till  no  part  of  it  was  seen  but  the 
ears;  for  the  brown  shawl  was  over  its  nose  and  mouth. 
Now  the  children  began  to  bawl  and  to  bellow !  But  no  one 
halloed  so  loud  as  the  little  boy  of  four.  His  name  was 
Merty.    He  feared  that  the  donkey  was  drowned.  .  .  . 

Two  fishermen  were  in  a  boat  far  away.  They  said,  "We 
hear  howls  and  shrieks  on  the  shore.  Perhaps  a  boy  or  girl 
is  drowning.  Let  us  go  and  save  him."  So  they  rowed 
hard,  and  they  soon  came  to  the  poor  donkey,  and  saw  its 
ears  peeping  out  of  the  sea.  The  donkey  was  just  going  to 
sink  when  they  lifted  it  up  by  the  jaws,  and  seized  the  bridle 
and  dragged  it  along.  The  children  on  the  shore  shouted 
aloud  for  joy.  The  donkey  with  the  cart  came  safe  to  land. 
The  poor  creature  was  weak  and  dripping  wet.  The  fisher- 
men unbound  its  eyes,  and  said  to  the  lady,  "We  cannot 
think  how  this  thing  came  to  be  over  its  eyes. "  The  lady 
said  she  wished  she  had  not  bound  up  its  eyes,  and  she  gave 
the  shillings  in  her  purse  to  the  fishermen  who  had  saved 
her  donkey. 

Now  every  child  knows  that  a  donkey  may  change 
into  a  Fairy  Prince :  that  is  a  truth  of  imagination.    But 


48  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

to  be  polite  and  say  nothing  of  the  lady,  every  child 
knows  that  no  donkey  would  be  ass  enough  to  behave 
as  in  this  narrative.  And  the  good  parents  who, 
throughout  the  later  eighteenth  century  and  the 
nineteenth,  inflicted  this  stuff  upon  children,  were 
sinning  against  the  light.  Perrault's  Fairy  Tales,  and 
Madame  D'Aulnoy's  were  to  their  hand  in  translations; 
Le  Cabinet  des  Fees,  which  includes  these  and  M.  Gul- 
land's  Arabian  Nights  and  many  another  collection  of 
delectable  stories,  extends  on  my  shelves  to  forty-one 
volumes  (the  last  volume  appeared  during  the  fury  of 
the  French  Revolution!).  The  brothers  Grimm  pub- 
lished the  first  volume  of  their  immortal  tales  in  1812, 
the  second  in  18 14.  A  capital  selection  from  them, 
charmingly  rendered,  was  edited  by  our  Edgar  Taylor 
in  1823;  and  drew  from  Sir  Walter  Scott  a  letter  of 
which  some  sentences  are  worth  our  pondering. 

He  writes : 

There  is  also  a  sort  of  wild  fairy  interest  in  [these  tales] 
which  makes  me  think  them  fully  better  adapted  to  awaken 
the  imagination  and  soften  the  heart  of  childhood  than  the 
good-boy  stories  which  have  been  in  later  years  composed 
for  them.  In  the  latter  case  their  minds  are,  as  it  were,  put 
into  the  stocks  .  .  .  and  the  moral  always  consists  in  good 
moral  conduct  being  crowned  with  temporal  success.  Truth 
is,  I  would  not  give  one  tear  shed  over  Little  Red  Riding 
Hood  for  all  the  benefit  to  be  derived  from  a  hundred  his- 
tories of  Jemmy  Goodchild. 

Few  nowadays,  I  doubt,  remember  Gammer  Grethel. 
She  has  been  ousted  by  completer,  maybe  far  better, 


Children's  Reading  49 

translations  of  the  Grimm's  Household  Tales.  But  turn- 
ing back,  the  other  day,  to  the  old  volume  for  the  old 
sake's  sake  (as  we  say  in  the  West)  I  came  on  the 
Preface — no  child  troubles  with  a  Preface — and  on 
these  wise  words : 

Much  might  be  urged  against  that  too  rigid  and  philo- 
sophic (we  might  rather  say,  unphilosophic)  exclusion  of 
works  of  fancy  and  fiction  from  the  libraries  of  children 
which  is  advocated  by  some.  Our  imagination  is  surely  as 
susceptible  of  improvement  by  exercise  as  our  judgment  or 
our  memory. 

And  that  admirable  sentence,  Gentlemen,  is  the  real 
text  of  my  discourse  to-day.  I  lay  no  sentimental  stress 
upon  Wordsworth's  Ode  and  its  doctrine  that  "Heaven 
lies  about  us  in  our  infancy."  It  was,  as  you  know,  a 
favourite  doctrine  with  our  Platonists  of  the  seventeenth 
century :  and  critics  who  trace  back  the  Ode  Intimations 
oj  Immortality  to  Henry  Vaughan's 

Happy  those  early  days,  when  I 
Shined  in  my  Angel-infancy. 

might  connect  it  with  a  dozen  passages  from  authors  of 
that  century.  Here  is  one  from  Centuries  of  Meditations 
by  that  poor  Welsh  parson,  Thomas  Traherne  whom  I 
quoted  to  you  the  other  day : 

Those  ptue  and  virgin  apprehensions  I  had  from  the 
womb,  and  that  divine  light  wherewith  I  was  born  are  the 
best  unto  this  day,  wherein  I  can  see  the  Universe.  By  the 
Gift  of  God  they  attended  me  into  the  world,  and  by  His 


50  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

special  favour  I  remember  them  till  now.  .  .  .  Certainly 
Adam  in  Paradise  had  not  more  sweet  and  curious  apprehen- 
sions of  the  world,  than  I  when  I  was  a  child. 


And  here  is  another  from  John  Earle's  Character  of 
"A  Child"  in  his  Microcosmography: 

His  father  hath  writ  him  as  his  own  little  story,  wherein 
he  reads  those  days  of  his  life  that  he  cannot  remember ;  and 
sighs  to  see  what  innocence  he  has  out-liv'd. 

He  is  the  Christian's  example,  and  the  old  man's  relapse: 
the  one  imitates  his  pureness,  and  the  other  falls  into  his 
simplicity.  Could  he  put  off  his  body  with  his  little  coat, 
he  had  got  Eternity  without  a  burthen,  and  exchang'd  but 
one  Heaven  for  another. 

Bethinking  me  again  of  "the  small  apple-eating  urchin 
whom  we  know, ' '  I  suspect  an  amiable  fallacy  in  all 
this:  I  doubt  if  when  he  scales  an  apple-bearing  tree 
which  is  neither  his  own  nor  his  papa's  he  does  so  under 
impulse  of  any  conscious  yearning  back  to  Hierusalem, 
his  happy  home. 

Where  trees  for  evermore  bear  fruit. 

At  any  rate,  I  have  an  orchard,  and  he  has  put  up 
many  excuses,  but  never  yet  that  he  was  remembering 
Sion. 

Still  the  doctrine  holds  affinity  with  the  belief  which 
I  firmly  hold  and  tried  to  explain  to  you  with  persuasion 
last  term :  that,  boy  or  man,  you  and  I,  the  microcosms, 
do — sensibly,  half -sensibly,  or  insensibly — yearn, 
through  what  we  feel  to  be  best  in  us,  to  "join  up"  with 


Children's  Reading  51 

the  greater  harmony ;  that  by  poetry  or  reHgion  or  what- 
not we  have  that  within  us  which  craves  to  be  drawn 
out,  "e-ducated, "  and  Hnked  up. 

Now  the  rule  of  the  nursery  in  the  last  century  rested 
on  Original  Sin,  and  consequently  and  quite  logically 
tended  not  to  educate,  but  to  repress.  There  are  no  new 
fairy-tales  of  the  days  when  your  grandmothers  wore 
crinolines — I  know,  for  I  have  searched.  Mothers  and 
nurses  taught  the  old  ones ;  the  Three  Bears  still  found, 
one  after  another,  that  ' '  somebody  has  been  sleeping  in 
my  bed";  Fatima  continued  to  call,  "Sister  Anne,  do 
you  see  any  one  coming?"  the  Wolf  to  show  her  teeth 
under  her  nightcap  and  snarl  out  (O,  great  moment!), 
"All  the  better  to  eat  you  with,  my  dear."  But  the 
Evangelicals  held  the  field.  Those  of  our  grandfathers 
and  grandmothers  who  understood  joy  and  must  have 
had  fairies  for  ministers — those  of  our  grandmothers 
who  played  croquet  through  a  hoop  with  a  bell  and 
practised  Cupid's  own  sport  of  archery,  those  of  our 
grandfathers  who  wore  jolly  peg-top  trousers  and 
Dundreary  whiskers,  and  built  the  Crystal  Palace  and 
drove  to  the  Derby  in  green-veiled  top-hats  with  Dutch 
dolls  stuck  about  the  brim — tot  circa  unum  caput  tumul- 
tuantes  deos — and  those  splendid  uncles  who  used  to 
descend  on  the  old  school  in  a  shower  of  gold — half-a- 
sovereign  at  the  very  least — all  these  should  have  trailed 
fairies  with  them  in  a  cloud.  But  in  practice  the  evan- 
gelical parent  held  the  majority,  put  away  all  toys 
but  Noah's  Ark  on  Sundays,  and  voted  the  fairies  down. 
I  know  not  who  converted  the  parents.    It  may  have 


52  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

been  that  benefactor  of  Europe,  Hans  Christian  Ander- 
sen, born  at  Odensee  in  Denmark,  in  April,  1805.  He 
died,  near  Copenhagen,  in  1875,  having  by  a  few  months 
outHved  his  seventieth  birthday.  I  like  to  think  that 
his  genius,  a  continuing  influence  over  a  long  genera- 
tion, did  more  than  anything  else  to  convert  the  parents. 
The  schools,  always  more  royalist  than  the  King,  pro- 
fessionally bleak,  professionally  dull,  professionally  re- 
pressive rather  than  educative,  held  on  to  a  tradition 
which,  though  it  had  to  be  on  the  sly,  every  intelligent 
mother  and  nurse  had  done  her  best  to  evade.  The 
schools  made  a  boy's  life  penitential  on  a  system.  They 
discovered  athletics,  as  a  safety-valve  for  high  spirits 
they  could  not  cope  with,  and  promptly  made  that 
safety-valve  compulsory!  They  went  on  to  make 
athletics  a  religion.  Now  athletics  are  not  properly  a 
religious  exercise,  and  their  meaning  evaporates  as  soon 
as  you  enlist  them  in  the  service  of  repression.  They 
are  being  used  to  do  the  exact  opposite  of  that  for  which 
God  meant  them.  Things  are  better  now :  but  in  those 
times  how  many  a  boy,  having  long  looked  forward  to 
it,  rejoiced  in  his  last  day  at  school? 

I  know  surely  enough  what  must  be  in  your  minds 
at  this  point:  I  am  running  up  my  head  hard  against 
the  doctrine  of  Original  Sin,  against  the  doctrine  that 
in  dealing  with  a  child  you  are  dealing  with  a  "fallen 
nature,"  with  a  human  soul  "conceived  in  sin,"  unre- 
generate  except  by  repression ;  and  therefore  that  repres- 
sion and  more  repression  must  be  the  only  logical  way 
with  your  Original  Sinners. 


Children's  Reading  53 

Well,  then,  I  am.  I  have  loved  children  all  my  life; 
studied  them  in  the  nursery,  studied  them  for  years — 
ten  or  twelve  years  intimately — in  elementary  schools. 
I  know  for  a  surety,  if  I  have  acquired  any  knowledge, 
that  the  child  is  a  "child  of  God"  rather  than  a  "child 
of  wrath" ;  and  here  before  you  I  proclaim  that  to  con- 
nect in  any  child's  mind  the  Book  of  Joshua  with  the 
Gospels,  to  make  its  Jehovah  identical  in  that  young 
mind  with  the  Father  of  Mercy  of  whom  Jesus  was  the 
Son,  to  confuse,  as  we  do  in  any  school  in  this  land  be- 
tween 9.5  and  9.45  A.M.,  the  bloodthirsty  tribal  deity 
whom  the  Hohenzollern  family  invokes  with  the  true 
God  the  Father,  is  a  blasphemous  usage,  and  a  curse. 

But  let  me  get  away  to  milder  heresies.  If  you  will 
concede  for  a  moment  that  the  better  way  with  a  child 
is  to  draw  out,  to  educate,  rather  than  to  repress,  what  is 
in  him,  let  us  observe  what  he  instinctively  wants.  Now 
first,  of  course,  he  wants  to  eat  and  drink,  and  to  run 
about.  When  he  passes  beyond  these  merely  animal 
desires  to  what  we  may  call  the  instinct  of  growth  in  his 
soul,  how  does  he  proceed.  I  think  Mr.  Holmes,  whom 
I  have  already  quoted,  very  fairly  sets  out  these  desires 
as  any  grown-up  person  can  perceive  them.  The  child 
desires 

(i)  to  talk  and  to  listen; 

(2)  to  act  (in  the  dramatic  sense  of  the  word) ; 

(3)  to  draw,  paint,  and  model ; 

(4)  to  dance  and  sing ; 

(5)  to  know  the  why  of  things ; 

(6)  to  construct  things. 


54  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Now  I  shall  have  something  to  say  by  and  by  on  the 
amazing  preponderance  in  this  list  of  those  instincts 
which  Aristotle  would  have  called  mimetic.  This  morn- 
ing I  take  only  the  least  imitative  of  all,  the  desire  to 
know  the  why  of  things. 

Surely  you  know,  taking  only  this,  that  the  master- 
key  admitting  a  child  to  all,  or  almost  all,  palaces  of 
knowledge  is  his  ability  to  read.  When  he  has  grasped 
that  key  of  his  mother-tongue  he  can  with  perseverance 
unlock  all  doors  to  all  the  avenues  of  knowledge.  More 
— he  has  the  passport  to  heavens  unguessed. 

You  will  perceive  at  once  that  what  I  mean  here  by 
"reading"  is  the  capacity  for  silent  reading,  taking  a 
book  apart  and  mastering  it ;  and  you  will  bear  in  mind 
the  wonder  that  I  preached  to  you  in  a  previous  lecture 
— that  great  literature  never  condescends,  that  what 
yonder  boy  in  a  corner  reads  of  a  king  is  happening 
to  him.  Do  you  suppose  that  in  an  elementary  school 
one  child  in  ten  reads  thus  ?  Listen  to  a  wise  ex-inspect- 
or, whose  words  I  can  corroborate  of  experience : 

The  first  thing  that  strikes  the  visitor  who  enters  an 
ordinary  elementary  school  while  a  reading  lesson  is  in 
progress  is  that  the  children  are  not  reading  at  all,  in  the 
accepted  sense  of  the  word.  They  are  not  reading  to  them- 
selves, not  studying,  not  mastering  the  contents  of  the  book, 
not  assimilating  the  mental  and  spiritual  nutriment  that  it 
may  be  supposed  to  contain.  They  are  standing  up  one  by 
one  and  reading  aloud  to  their  teacher. 

Ah !  but  I  have  seen  far  worse  than  that.    I  have  visited 
and  condemned  rural  schools  where  the  practice  was  to 


Children's  Reading  55 

stand  a  class  up — say  a  class  of  thirty  children — and 
make  them  read  in  unison :  which  meant,  of  course,  that 
the  front  row  chanted  out  the  lesson  while  the  back 
rows  made  inarticulate  noises.  I  well  remember  one 
such  exhibition,  in  a  remote  country  school  on  the 
Cornish  hills,  and  having  my  attention  arrested  midway 
by  the  face  of  a  girl  in  the  third  row.  She  was  a  strik- 
ingly beautiful  child,  with  that  combination  of  bright 
auburn,  almost  flaming,  hair  with  dark  eyebrows,  dark 
eyelashes,  dark  eyes,  which  of  itself  arrests  your  gaze 
being  so  rare;  and  those  eyes  seemed  to  challenge  me 
half  scornfully  and  ask,  "Are  you  really  taken  in  by  all 
this?"  Well,  I  soon  stopped  the  performance  and 
required  each  child  to  read  separately:  whereupon  it 
turned  out  that,  in  the  upper  standards  of  this  school 
of  seventy  or  eighty  children,  one  only — this  disdainful 
girl — could  get  through  half  a  dozen  easy  sentences 
with  credit.  She  read  well  and  intelligently,  being 
accustomed  to  read  to  herself,  at  home. 

I  daresay  that  this  bad  old  method  of  block-reading 
is  dead  by  this  time. 

Reading  aloud  and  separately  is  excellent  for  several 
purposes.  It  tests  capacity:  it  teaches  correct  pro- 
nunciation by  practice,  as  well  as  the  mastery  of  difficult 
words :  it  provides  a  good  teacher  with  frequent  oppor- 
tunities of  helping  the  child  to  understand  what  he 
reads. 

But  as  his  schooling  proceeds  he  should  be  accus- 
tomed more  and  more  to  read  to  himself:  for  that, 
I  repeat,  is  the  master  key. 


CHILDREN'S  READING  (II) 

I 

IN  our  talk,  Gentlemen,  about  Children's  Reading 
we  left  off  upon  a  list,  drawn  up  by  Mr.  Holmes  in 
his  book  What  Is,  and  What  Might  Be,  of  the  things 
that,  apart  from  physical  nourishment  and  exercise,  a 
child  instinctively  desires, 
(i)  to  talk  and  to  listen; 

(2)  to  act  (in  the  dramatic  sense  of  the  word) ; 

(3)  to  draw,  paint,  and  model ; 

(4)  to  dance  and  sing; 

(5)  to  know  the  why  of  things ; 

(6)  to  construct  things. 

Let  us  scan  through  this  catalogue  briefly,  in  its 
order. 

No.  (i).  To  talk  and  to  listen — Mr.  Holmes  calls  this 
the  communicative  instinct.  Every  child  wants  to  talk, 
with  those  about  him,  or  at  any  rate  with  his  chosen 
ones — his  parents,  brothers,  sisters,  nurse,  governess, 
gardener,  boot-boy  (if  he  possess  these  last) — with 
other  children,  even  if  his  dear  papa  is  poor:  to  tell 
them  what  he  has  been  doing,  seeing,  feeling:  and  to 
listen  to  what  they  have  to  tell  him. 

Nos.  (2),  (3),  (4).     To  act — our  author  calls  this  the 

56 


Children's  Reading  57 

"dramatic  instinct" :  to  draw,  paint,  and  model — this  the 
"artistic  instinct" :  to  dance  and  sing — this  the  "musical 
instinct."  But  obviously  all  these  are  what  Aristotle 
would  call  "mimetic"  instincts:  "imitative"  (in  a  sense 
I  shall  presently  explain) ;  even  as  No.  (2) — acting — 
like  No.  (i) — talking  and  listening — comes  of  craving 
for  sympathy.  In  fact,  as  we  go  on,  you  will  see  that 
these  instincts  overlap  and  are  not  strictly  separable, 
though  we  separate  them  just  now  for  convenience. 

No.  (5).  To  know  the  why  of  things — the  "inquisitive 
instinct."  This,  being  the  one  which  gives  most  trouble 
to  parents,  parsons,  governesses,  conventional  school- 
masters— to  all  grown-up  persons  who  pretend  to  know 
what  they  don't  and  are  ashamed  to  tell  what  they  do — 
is  of  course  the  most  ruthlessly  repressed. 

"The  time  is  come,"  the  Infant  said, 
"To  talk  of  many  things: 
Of  babies,  storks  and  cabbages 
And— 

— having  studied  the  Evangelists'  Window  facing  the 
family  pew — 

And  whether  cows  have  wings. " 

The  answer,  in  my  experience,  is  invariably  stem,  and 
"in  the  negative":  in  tolerant  moments  compromising 
on  "Wait,  like  a  good  boy,  and  see." 

But  we  singled  out  this  instinct  and  discussed  it  in 
our  last  lecture. 


58  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

No.  (6).  To  construct  things — the  "constructive 
instinct. "    I  quote  Mr.  Holmes  here: 

After  analysis  comes  synthesis.  The  child  pulls  his  toys 
to  pieces  in  order  that  he  may,  if  possible,  reconstruct  them. 
The  ends  that  he  sets  before  himself  are  those  which  Comte 
set  before  the  human  race — savoir  pour  prevoir,  afin  de  pou- 
voir:  induire  pour  deduire,  afin  de  construire.  The  desire  to 
make  things,  to  build  things  up,  to  control  ways  and  means, 
to  master  the  resources  of  nature,  to  put  his  knowledge  of 
her  laws  and  facts  to  practical  use,  is  strong  in  his  soul. 
Give  him  a  box  of  bricks,  and  he  will  spend  hours  in  building 
and  rebuilding  houses,  churches.  .  .  .  Set  him  on  a  sandy 
shore  with  a  spade  and  a  pail,  and  he  will  spend  hours  in 
constructing  fortified  castles  with  deep  encircling  moats. 

Again,  obviously,  this  constructive  instinct  overlaps 
with  the  imitative  ones.  Construction,  for  example, 
enters  into  the  art  of  making  mud-pies  and  has  also 
been  applied  in  the  past  to  great  poetry.  If  you  don't 
keep  a  sharp  eye  in  directing  this  instinct,  it  may  con- 
ceivably end  in  an  Othello  or  in  a  Divina  Commedia. 

II 

Without  preaching  on  any  of  the  others,  however,  I 
take  three  of  the  six  instincts  scheduled  by  Mr.  Holmes 
— the  three  which  you  will  allow  to  be  almost  purely 
imitative.     They  are : 

Acting, 

Drawing,  painting,  modelling, 

Dancing  and  singing. 
Now  let  us  turn  to  the  very  first  page  of  Aristotle's 
Poetics  and  what  do  we  read  ? 


Children's  Reading  59 

Epic  poetry  and  Tragedy,  Comedy  also  and  dithyrambic 
poetry,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  music  of  the  flute  and  of 
the  lyre,  are  all,  in  general,  modes  of  imitation.  .  .  . 

For  as  there  are  persons  who  represent  a  number  of  things 
by  coloiirs  and  drawings,  and  others  vocally,  so  it  is  with 
the  arts  above  mentioned.  They  all  imitate  by  rhythm, 
language,  harmony,  singly  or  combined. 

Even  dancing  (he  goes  on) 

imitates  character,   emotion,  and  action,  by   rhythmical 
movement. 

Now,  having  touched  on  mud-pies,  let  me  say  a  few 
words  upon  these  aesthetic  imitative  instincts  of  acting, 
dancing,  singing  before  I  follow  Aristotle  into  his  ex- 
planation of  the  origin  of  Poetry,  which  I  think  we  may 
agree  to  be  the  highest  subject  of  our  Art  of  Reading 
and  to  hold  promise  of  its  highest  reward. 

Every  wise  mother  sings  or  croons  to  her  child  and 
dances  him  on  her  knee.  She  does  so  by  sure  instinct, 
long  before  the  small  body  can  respond  or  his  eyes — 
always  blue  at  first  and  unfathomably  aged — return  her 
any  answer.  It  lulls  him  into  the  long  spells  of  sleep  so 
necessary  for  his  first  growth.  By  and  by,  when  he  has 
found  his  legs,  he  begins  to  skip,  and  even  before  he 
has  found  articulate  speech,  to  croon  for  himself.  Pass 
a  stage,  and  you  find  him  importing  speech,  drama, 
dance,  incantation,  into  his  games  with  his  playmates. 
Watch  a  cluster  of  children  as  they  enact  ''Here  we 
go  gathering  nuts  in  May'' — eloquent  line:  it  is  just 
what  they  are   doing! — or    ''Here   come   three   Dukes 


6o  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

a-riding,"  or  "Fetch  a  pail  of  water/'  or  "Sally,  Sally 
Waters": 

Sally,  Sally  Waters, 

Sitting  in  the  sand. 
Rise,  Sally — rise,  Sally, 

For  a  young  man. 

Suitor  presented,  accepted  [I  have  noted,  by  the  way, 
that  this  game  is  more  popular  with  girls  than  with 
boys] ;  wedding  ceremony  hastily  performed — so  hastily, 
it  were  more  descriptive  to  say  "taken  for  granted" — 
within  the  circle;  the  dancers,  who  join  hands  and 
resume  the  measure,  chanting 

Now  you  are  married,  we  wish  you  joy — 
First  a  girl  and  then  a  boy 

— the  order,  I  suspect,  dictated  by  exigencies  of  rhyme 
rather  than  of  Eugenics,  as  Dryden  confessed  that  a 
rhyme  had  often  helped  him  to  a  thought.  And  yet  I 
don't  know;  for  the  incantation  goes  on  to  redress  the 
balance  in  a  way  that  looks  scientific : 

Ten  years  after,  son  and  daughter, 
And  now — 

[practically !] 

And  now.  Miss  Sally,  come  out  of  the  water. 

The  players  end  by  supplying  the  applause  which,  in 
these  days  of  division  of  labour,  is  commonly  left  to  the 
audience. 


Children's  Reading  6i 

III 

Well,  there  you  have  it  all:  acting,  singing,  dancing, 
choral  movement — enlisted  ancillary  to  the  domestic 
drama :  and,  when  you  start  collecting  evidence  of  these 
imitative  instincts  blent  in  childhood  the  mass  will  soon 
amaze  you  and  leave  you  no  room  to  be  surprised  that 
many  learned  scholars,  on  the  supposition  that  un- 
civilised man  is  a  child  more  or  less — and  at  least  so 
much  of  child  that  one  can  argue  through  children's 
practice  to  his — have  found  the  historical  origin  of 
Poetry  itself  in  these  primitive  performances:  "com- 
munal poetry ' '  as  they  call  it.  I  propose  to  discuss  with 
you  (maybe  next  term)  in  a  lecture  not  belonging  to 
this  "course"  the  likelihood  that  what  we  call  specifi- 
cally "the  Ballad,"  or  "Ballad  Poetry,"  originated 
thus.  Here  is  a  wider  question.  Did  all  Poetry  de- 
velop^ out  -of  this,  historically,  as  a  process  in  time  and 
in  fact?  These  scholars  (among  whom  I  will  instance 
one  of  the  most  learned — Dr.  Gummere)  hold  that  it 
did:  and  I  may  take  a  passage  from  Dr.  Gummere's 
Beginnings  of  Poetry  (p.  95)  to  show  you  how  they  call 
in  the  practice  of  savage  races  to  support  their  theory. 
The  Botocudos  of  South  America  are — according  to  Dr. 
Paul  Ehrenreich  who  has  observed  them^ — an  un- 
gentlemanly  tribe,  "very  low  in  the  social  scale. " 

The  Botocudos  are  little  better  than  a  leaderless  horde, 
and  pay  scant  respect  to  their  chieftain;  they  live  only  for 
their  immediate  bodily  needs,  and  take  small  thought  for 

'  The  reference  given  is  Zeitschr.  /.  Eihnologie,  xix.,  30  S. 


62  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

the  morrow,  still  less  for  the  past.  No  traditions,  no  legends, 
are  abroad  to  tell  them  of  their  forbears.  They  still  use 
gestures  to  express  feeling  and  ideas;  while  the  number  of 
words  which  imitate  a  given  sound  "is  extraordinarily 
great."  An  action  or  an  object  is  named  by  imitating  the 
sound  peculiar  to  it;  and  sounds  are  doubled  to  express 
greater  intensity.  .  .  .  To  speak  is  ad;  to  speak  loudly  or 
to  sing,  is  ao-ao.  And  now  for  their  aesthetic  life,  their  song, 
dance,  poetry,  as  described  by  this  accurate  observer.  ' '  On 
festal  occasions  the  whole  horde  meets  by  night  round  the 
camp  fire  for  a  dance.  Men  and  women  alternating  .  .  . 
form  a  circle;  each  dancer  lays  his  arms  about  the  necks  of 
his  two  neighbours,  and  the  entire  ring  begins  to  turn  to  the 
right  or  to  the  left,  while  all  the  dancers  stamp  strongly  and 
in  rhythm  the  foot  that  is  advanced,  and  drag  after  it  the 
other  foot.  Now  with  drooping  heads  they  press  closer  and 
closer  together;  now  they  widen  the  circle.  Throughout 
the  dance  resounds  a  monotonous  song  to  which  they  stamp 
their  feet.  Often  one  can  hear  nothing  but  a  continually 
repeated  Kalaui  aha  I  .  .  .  Again,  however,  short  impro- 
vised songs,  in  which  we  are  told  the  doings  of  the  day,  the 
reasons  for  rejoicing,  what  not,  as  "Good  hunting,"  or 
"Now  we  have  something  to  eat,"  or  "Brandy  is  good." 

"As  to  the  aesthetic  value"  of  these  South  American 
utterances.  Dr.  Gummere  asks  in  a  footnote,  "hovv^  far  is 
it  inferior  to  the  sonorous  commonplaces  of  our  own 
verse — say  The  Psalm  of  Life?"  I  really  cannot  answer 
that  question.  Which  do  you  prefer,  Gentlemen? — 
"Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest,"  or  "Now  we  have  some- 
thing to  eat."  I  must  leave  you  to  settle  it  with  the 
Food  Controller. 

The  Professor  goes  on: 

"Now  and  then,  too,  an  individual  begins  a  song,  and  is 
answered  by  the  rest  in  chorus.  .  .  .     They  never  sing  with- 


Children's  Reading  63 

out  dancing,  never  dance  without  singing,  and  have  hut  one 
word  to  express  both  song  and  dance. " 

As  the  unprejudiced  reader  sees  [Dr.  Gummere  proceeds] 
this  clear  and  admirable  account  confirms  the  doctrine  of 
early  days  revived  with  fresh  ethnological  evidence  in  the 
writings  of  Dr.  Brown  and  of  Adam  Smith,  that  dance, 
poetry,  and  song  were  once  a  single  and  inseparable  function, 
and  is  in  itself  fatal  to  the  idea  of  rhythmic  prose,  of  solitary 
recitation,  as  foundations  of  poetry.  .  .  .  All  poetry  is 
communal,  holding  fast  to  the  rhythm  of  consent  as  to  the 
one  sure  fact. 

IV 

Now  I  should  tell  you,  Gentlemen,  that  I  hold  such 
utterances  as  this  last — whatever  you  may  think  of  the 
utterances  of  the  Botocudos — to  be  exorbitant:  that 
I  distrust  all  attempts  to  build  up  (say)  Paradise  Lost 
historically  from  the  yells  and  capers  of  recondite 
savages.  "Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest "  may  be  no  better 
assthetically  (I  myself  think  it  a  little  better)  than  ' '  Now 
we  have  something  to  eat."  "Brandy  is  good"  may 
rival  Pindar's  "^/OiO'rov  ^xev  vScop  and  indeed  puts  what 
it  contains  of  truth  with  more  of  finality,  less  of  pro- 
vocation (though  Pindar  at  once  follows  up  "Apiarov 
}i6v  vdoof)  with  exquisite  poetry) :  but  you  cannot — truly 
you  cannot — exhibit  the  steps  which  lead  up  from 
"Brandy  is  good"  to  such  lines  as 

Thus  with  the  year 
Seasons  return ;  but  not  to  me  returns 
Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  even  or  mom, 
Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rose, 
Or  flocks,  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine. 


64  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

I  bend  over  the  learned  page  pensively,  and  I  seem  to 
see  a  Botocudo  Professor — though  not  high  "in  the 
social  scale, "  they  may  have  such  things — visiting  Cam- 
bridge on  the  last  night  of  the  Lent  races  and  reporting 
of  its  inhabitants  as  follows : 

They  pay  scant  heed  to  their  chiefs:  they  live  only  for 
their  immediate  bodily  needs,  and  take  small  thought  for 
the  morrow.  On  festal  occasions  the  whole  horde  meets  by 
night  round  the  camp  fire  for  a  dance.  Each  dancer  lays  his 
arms  about  the  necks  of  his  two  neighbours,  stamping 
strongly  with  one  foot  and  dragging  the  other  after  it.  Now 
with  drooping  heads  they  press  closer  and  closer  together; 
now  they  widen  the  circle.  Often  one  can  hear  nothing  but  a 
continually  repeated  kalaui  aha,  or  again  one  hears  short 
improvised  songs  in  which  we  are  told  the  doings  of  the  day, 
the  reasons  for  rejoicing,  what  not,  as  "Good  hunting," 
* '  Good  old — ' '  [naming  a  tribal  God],  or  in  former  times  * '  Now 
we  shall  be  but  a  short  while, "  or  "  Woemma!''  Now  and 
then,  too,  an  individual  begins  a  song  and  is  answered  by 
the  rest  in  chorus — such  as 

For  he  is  an  estimable  person 
Beyond  possibility  of  gainsaying. 

The  chorus  twice  repeats  this  and  asseverates  that  they 
are  following  a  custom  common  to  the  flotilla,  the  expedi- 
tionary force,  and  even  their  rude  seats  of  learning. 

And  Dr.  Gummere,  or  somebody  else,  comments: 
"As  the  unprejudiced  reader  will  see,  this  clear  and 
admirable  account  confirms  our  hypothesis  that  in  com- 
munal celebration  we  have  at  once  the  origin  and  model 
of  two  poems.  Paradise  Lost  and  In  Memoriam,  recorded 
as  having  been  composed  by  members  of  this  very  tribe. " 

Although  we  have  been  talking  of  instincts,  we  are 


Children's  Reading  65 

not  concerned  here  with  the  steps  by  which  the  child, 
or  the  savage,  following  an  instinct  attains  to  write 
poetry;  but,  more  modestly,  with  the  instinct  by  which 
the  child  likes  it,  and  the  way  in  which  he  can  be  best 
encouraged  to  read  and  improve  this  natural  liking.. 
Nor  are  we  even  concerned  here  to  define  Poetry.  It 
suffices  our  present  purpose  to  consider  Poetry  as  the 
sort  of  thing  the  poets  write. 

But  obviously  if  we  find  a  philosopher  discussing 
poetry  without  any  reference  to  children,  and  indepen- 
dently basing  it  upon  the  very  same  imitative  instincts 
which  we  have  noted  in  children,  we  have  some  promise 
of  being  on  the  right  track. 

V 

So  I  return  to  Aristotle.  Aristotle  (I  shall  in  fairness 
say)  does  not  anticipate  Dr.  Gummere,  to  contradict  or 
refute  him;  he  may  even  be  held  to  support  him  inci- 
dentally. But  he  sticks  to  business,  and  this  is  what 
he  says  {Poetics,  c.  iv.) : 

Poetry  in  general  seems  to  have  sprung  from  two  causes, 
and  these  natural  causes.  First  the  instinct  to  imitate  is 
implanted  in  man  from  his  childhood,  and  in  this  he  differs 
from  other  animals,  being  the  most  imitative  of  them  all. 
Man  gets  his  first  learning  through  imitation,  and  all  men 
delight  in  seeing  things  imitated.  This  is  clearly  shown  by 
experience.  .  .  . 

To  imitate,  then,  being  instinctive  in  our  nature,  so  too 
we  have  an  instinct  for  harmony  and  rhythm,  metre  being 
manifestly  a  species  of  rhythm:  and  man,  being  born  to 
these  instincts  and  little  by  little  improving  them,  out  of  his 
early  improvisations  created  Poetry. 


66  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Combining  these  two  instincts,  with  him,  we  arrive 
aX  harmonious  imitation.  Well  and  good.  But  what  is 
it  we  imitate  in  poetry? — noble  things  or  mean  things? 
After  considering  this,  putting  mean  things  aside  as 
unworthy,  and  voting  for  the  nobler — which  must  at 
the  same  time  be  true,  since  without  truth  there  can 
be  no  real  nobility — Aristotle  has  to  ask  ' '  In  what  way 
true?  True  to  ordinary  life,  with  its  observed  defeats 
of  the  right  by  the  wrong?  or  true,  as  again  instinct  tells 
good  men  it  should  be,  universally?''  So  he  arrives  at 
his  conclusion  that  a  true  thing  is  not  necessarily  truth 
of  fact  in  a  world  where  truth  in  fact  is  so  often  belied 
or  made  meaningless — not  the  record  that  Alcibiades 
went  somewhere  and  suffered  something — but  truth  to 
the  Universal,  the  superior  demand  of  our  conscience. 
In  such  a  way  only  we  know  that  The  Tempest  or  Para- 
dise Lost  or  The  Ancient  Mariner  or  Prometheus  Un- 
bound can  be  truer  than  any  police  report.  Yet  we 
know  that  they  are  truer  in  essence,  and  in  significance, 
since  they  appeal  to  eternal  verities — since  they  imitate 
the  Universal — whereas  the  police  report  chronicles 
(faithfully,  as  in  duty  bound,  even  usefully  in  its  way) 
events  which  may,  nay  must,  be  significant  somehow 
but  cannot  at  best  be  better  to  us  than  phenomena, 
broken  ends,  and  shards. 


VI 


I  return  to  the  child.    Clearly  in  obeying  the  instinct 
which  I  have  tried  to  illustrate,  he  is  searching  to  realize 


Children's  Reading  67 

himself ;  and,  as  educators,  we  ought  to  help  this  effort 
— or,  at  least,  not  to  hinder  it. 

Further,  if  we  agree  with  Aristotle,  in  this  searching 
to  realize  himself  through  imitation,  what  will  the  child 
most  nobly  and  naturally  imitate  ?  He  will  imitate  what 
Aristotle  calls  "the  Universal,"  the  superior  demand. 
And  does  not  this  bring  us  back  to  consent  with  what  I 
have  been  preaching  from  the  start  in  this  course — that 
to  reahze  ourselves  in  What  Is  not  only  in  degree  trans- 
cends mere  knowledge  and  activity,  What  Knows  and 
What  Does,  but  transcends  it  in  kind?  It  is  not  only 
what  the  child  unconsciously  longs  for:  it  is  that  for 
which  (in  St.  Paul's  words)  "the  whole  creation  groan- 
eth  and  travaileth  in  pain  together  until  now" ;  craving 
for  this  (I  make  you  the  admission)  as  emotionally  as 
the  heart  may  be  thrilled,  the  breast  surge,  the  eyes 
swell  with  tears,  at  a  note  drawn  from  the  violin :  feeling 
that  somewhere,  beyond  reach,  we  have  a  lost  sister, 
and  she  speaks  to  our  soul. 


VII 


Who,  that  has  been  a  child,  has  not  felt  this  surprise 
of  beauty,  the  revelation,  the  call  of  it? 

The  sounding  cataract 
Haunted  me  like  a  passion  ... 

— ^yes,  or  a  rainbow  on  the  spray  against  a  cliff ;  or  a  vista 
of  lawns  between  descending  woods ;  or  a  vision  of  fish 
moving  in  a  pool  under  the  hazel's  shadow?     Who  has 


68  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

not  felt  the  small  surcharged  heart  labouring  with  desire 
to  express  it  ? 

I  preach  to  you  that  the  base  of  all  Literature,  of  all 

/  Poetry,  of  all  Theology,  is  one,  and  stands  on  one  rock: 

I  the  very  highest  Universal  Truth  is  something  so  simple 

I   that  a  child  may  understand  it.     This  surely,  was  in 

I    Jesus'  mind  when  he  said, ' '  I  thank  thee,  0  Father,  Lord 

of  heaven  and  earth,  because  thou  hast  hid  these  things 

from  the  wise  and  prudent,  and  hast  revealed  them  unto 

babes." 

For  as  the  Universe  is  one,  so  the  individual  human 
souls,  that  apprehend  it,  have  no  varying  values  intrin- 
sically, but  one  equal  value.  They  vary  but  in  power  to 
apprehend,  and  this  may  be  more  easily  hindered  than 
helped  by  the  conceit  begotten  of  finite  knowledge.  I 
shall  even  dare  to  quote  of  this  Universal  Truth,  the 
words  I  once  hardily  put  into  the  mouth  of  John  Wesley 
concerning  divine  Love:  "I  see  now  that  if  God's  love 
reach  up  to  every  star  and  down  to  every  poor  soul  on 
earth,  it  must  be  vastly  simple;  so  simple  that  all  dwel- 
lers on  Earth  may  be  assured  of  it — as  all  who  have  eyes 
may  be  assured  of  the  planet  shining  yonder  at  the  end 
of  the  street — and  so  vast  that  all  bargaining  is  below 
it,  and  they  may  inherit  it  without  considering  his 
deserts. "  I  believe  this  to  be  strictly  and  equally  true 
of  the  appeal  which  Poetry  makes  to  each  of  us,  child 
or  man,  in  his  degree.  As  Johnson  said  of  Gray's  Elegy, 
it  "abounds  with  images  which  find  a  mirror  in  every 
mind,  and  with  sentiments  to  which  every  bosom  re- 
turns an  echo. "    It  exalts  us  through  the  best  of  us,  by 


Children's  Reading  69 

telling  us  something  new  yet  not  strange,  something 
that  we  recognize,  something  that  we,  too,  have  known, 
or  surmised,  but  had  never  the  delivering  speech  to  tell. 
' '  There  is  a  pleasure  in  poetic  pains, ' '  says  Wordsworth : 
but.  Gentlemen,  if  you  have  never  felt  the  travail,  yet 
you  have  still  to  understand  the  bliss  of  deliverance. 

VIII 

If,  then,  you  consent  with  me  thus  far  in  theory,  let 
us  now  drive  at  practice.  You  have  (we  will  say)  a  class 
of  thirty  or  forty  in  front  of  you.  We  will  assume  that 
they  know  their  a — b,  ab,  can  at  least  spell  out  their 
words.  You  will  choose  a  passage  for  them,  and  you 
wiU  not  (if  you  are  wise)  choose  a  passage  from  Paradise 
Lost:  your  knowledge  telling  you  that  Paradise  Lost  was 
written,  late  in  his  life,  by  a  great  virtuoso,  and  older  men 
(of  whom  I,  sad  to  say,  am  one)  assuring  you  that  to 
taste  the  Milton  of  Paradise  Lost  a  man  must  have 
passed  his  thirtieth  year.  You  take  the  early  Milton: 
you  read  out  this,  for  instance,  from  L' Allegro: 

Haste  thee.  Nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 

Jest  and  youthful  Jollity, 

Quips,  and  Cranks,  and  wanton  wiles, 

Nods  and  Becks,  and  wreathed  Smiles 

Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek. 

And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek; 

Sport  that  wrinkled  Care  derides, 

And  Laughter  holding  both  his  sides.  .  .  . 

Go  on:  just  read  it  to  them.  They  won't  know  who 
Hebe  was,  but  you  can  tell  them  later.    The  metre  is 


70  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

taking  hold  of  them  (in  my  experience  the  metre  of 
L' Allegro  can  be  relied  upon  to  grip  children)  and 
anyway  they  can  see  ' '  Laughter  holding  both  his  sides  " : 
they  recognize  it  as  if  they  saw  the  picture.  Go  on 
steadily : 

Come,  and  trip  it  as  ye  go, 

On  the  light  fantastick  toe; 

And  in  thy  right  hand  lead  with  thee 

The  Mountain  Nymph,  sweet  Liberty; 

And,  if  I  give  thee  honour  due, 

Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew — 

Do  not  pause  and  explain  what  a  Nymph  is,  or  why 
Liberty  is  the  "Mountain  Nymph!"  Go  on  reading: 
the  Prince  has  always  to  break  through  briers  to  kiss 
the  Sleeping  Beauty  awake.  Go  on  with  the  incantation 
calling  him,  persuading  him,  that  he  is  the  Prince  and 
she  is  worth  it.     Go  on  reading — 

Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew, 
To  live  with  her,  and  live  with  thee, 
In  unreproved  pleasures  free; 
To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight, 
And  singing  startle  the  dull  night, 
From  his  watch-towre  in  the  skies, 
Till  the  dappled  dawn  doth  rise. 

At  this  point — still  as  you  read  without  stopping  to 
explain,  the  child  certainly  feels  that  he  is  being  led  to 
something.  He  knows  the  lark :  but  the  lark's  ' '  watch- 
towre" — he  had  never  thought  of  that:  and  "the  dap- 
pled dawn" — yes  that's  just  it,  now  he  comes  to  think: 


Children's  Reading  71 

Then  to  come,  in  spite  of  sorrow, 
And  at  my  window  bid  good-morrow, 
Through  the  sweet-brier  or  the  vine 
Or  the  twisted  eglantine; 
While  the  cock  with  lively  din 
Scatters  the  rear  of  Darkness  thin ; 
And  to  the  stack,  or  the  barn  door 
Stoutly  struts  his  dames  before : 
Oft  listening  how  the  hounds  and  horn 
Cheerily  rouse  the  slumbering  Morn, 
From  the  side  of  some  hoar  hill, 
Through  the  high  wood  echoing  shrill: 
Sometime  walking,  not  unseen, 
By  hedgerow  elms  on  hillocks  green, 
Right  against  the  eastern  gate. 
Where  the  great  sun  begins  his  state, 
Robed  in  flames  and  amber  light. 
The  clouds  in  thousand  liveries  dight; 
While  the  ploughman,  near  at  hand, 
Whistles  o'er  the  furrow'd  land, 
And  the  milkmaid  singeth  blithe. 
And  the  mower  whets  his  sithe. 
And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale 
Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  dale. 

Don't  stop  (I  say)  to  explain  that  Hebe  was  (for  once) 
the  legitimate  daughter  of  Zeus  and,  as  such,  had  the 
privilege  to  draw  wine  for  the  gods.  Don't  even  stop, 
just  yet,  to  explain  who  the  gods  were.  Don't  discourse 
on  amber,  otherwise  ambergris;  don't  explain  that 
"gris"  in  this  connection  doesn't  mean  "grease";  don't 
trace  it  through  the  Arabic  into  Noah's  Ark;  don't 
prove  its  electrical  properties  by  tearing  up  paper  into 
little  bits  and  attracting  them  with  the  mouth-piece  of 
your  pipe  rubbed  on  your  sleeve.     Don't  insist  philo- 


72  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

logically  that  when  every  shepherd  "tells  his  tale"  he 
is  not  relating  an  anecdote  but  simply  keeping  tally  of 
his  flock. 

Just  go  on  reading,  as  well  as  you  can;  and  be  sure 
that  when  the  children  get  the  thrill  of  it,  for  which  you 
wait,  they  will  be  asking  more  questions,  and  pertinent 
ones,  than  you  are  able  to  answer. 

IX 

This  advice,  to  be  sure,  presupposes  of  the  teacher 
himself  some  capacity  of  reading  aloud,  and  reading 
aloud  is  not  taught  in  our  schools.  In  our  Elementary 
Schools,  in  which  few  of  the  pupils  contemplate  being 
called  to  Holy  Orders  or  to  the  Bar,  it  is  practised, 
indeed,  but  seldom  taught  as  an  art.  In  our  Secondary 
and  Public  Schools  it  is  neither  taught  nor  practised: 
as  I  know  to  my  cost — and  you,  to  yours,  Gentlemen, 
on  whom  I  have  had  to  practise. 

But  let  the  teacher  take  courage.  First  let  him  read 
a  passage  "at  the  long  breath" — as  the  French  say — 
aloud,  and  persuasively  as  he  can.  Now  and  then  he 
may  pause  to  indicate  some  particular  beauty,  repeating 
the  line  before  he  proceeds.  But  he  should  be  sparing 
of  these  interruptions.  When  Laughter,  for  example,  is 
already  "holding  both  his  sides"  it  cannot  be  less  than 
officious,  a  work  of  supererogation,  to  stop  and  hold 
them  for  him;  and  he  who  obeys  the  counsel  of  per- 
fection will  read  straight  to  the  end  and  then  recur  to 
particular  beauties.  Next  let  him  put  up  a  child  to  con- 
tinue with  the  tale,  and  another  and  another,  just  as  in 


Children's  Reading  73 

a  construing  class.  While  the  boy  is  reading,  the  teacher 
should  never  interrupt :  he  should  wait,  and  return  after- 
wards upon  a  line  that  has  been  slurred  or  wrongly 
emphasised.  When  the  children  have  done  reading  he 
should  invite  questions  on  any  point  they  have  found 
puzzling:  it  is  with  the  operation  of  poetry  on  their 
minds  that  his  main  business  lies.  Lastly,  he  may  run 
back  over  significant  points  they  have  missed. 

"And  is  that  all  the  method?" — Yes,  that  is  all  the 
method.  ' '  So  simple  as  that  ? ' ' — Yes,  even  so  simple  as 
that,  and  (I  claim)  even  so  wise,  seeing  that  it  just  lets 
the  author — Chaucer  or  Shakespeare  or  Milton  or 
Coleridge — have  his  own  way  with  the  young  plant 
— ^just  lets  them  drop  "Uke  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven," 
and  soak  in. 

The  moving  Moon  went  up  the  sky, 

And  nowhere  did  abide: 
Softly  she  was  going  up, 

And  a  star  or  two  beside. 

Do  you  really  want  to  chat  about  that?  Cannot  you 
trust  it  ? 

The  stars  were  dim,  and  thick  the  night, 

The  steersman's  face  by  his  lamp  gleamed  white; 

From  the  sails  the  dew  did  drip — 
Till  clomb  above  the  eastern  bar 
The  horned  Moon,  with  one  bright  star 

Within  the  nether  tip. 

Must  you  tell  them  that  for  the  Moon  to  hold  a  star 
anywhere  within  her  circumference  is  an  astronomical 
impossibility  ?   Very  well,  then ;  tell  it.    But  tell  it  after- 


74  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

wards,  and  put  it  away  quietly.  For  the  quality  of 
Poetry  is  not  strained.  Let  the  rain  soak ;  then  use  your, 
hoe,  and  gently;  and  still  trust  Nature;  by  which,  I 
again  repeat  to  you,  all  spirit  attracts  all  spirit  as  in- 
evitably as  all  matter  attracts  all  matter. 

"Strained."  I  am  glad  that  memory  flew  just  here 
to  the  word  of  Portia's:  for  it  carries  me  on  to  a  wise 
page  of  Dr.  Corson's,  and  a  passage  in  which,  protesting 
against  the  philologers  who  cram  our  children's  hand- 
books with  irrelevant  information  that  but  obscures 
what  Chaucer  or  Shakespeare  mean,  he  breaks  out  in 
Chaucer's  own  words : 

Thise  cookes!  how  they  stampe  and  streyne  and  grind. 
And  turnen  substaunce  into  accident ! 

(Yes,  and  make  the  accident  the  substance!) — as  he 
insists  that  the  true  subject  of  literary  study  is  the 
author's  meaning;  and  the  true  method  a  surrender  of 
the  mind  to  that  meaning,  with  what  Wordsworth  calls 
"a  wise  passiveness" : 

The  eye — it  cannot  choose  but  see; 

We  cannot  bid  the  ear  be  still ; 
Our  bodies  feel,  where'er  they  be, 

Against  or  with  our  will. 

Nor  less  I  deem  that  there  are  Powers 
Which  of  themselves  our  minds  impress; 

That  we  can  feed  this  mind  of  ours 
In  a  wise  passiveness. 

Think  you,  'mid  all  this  mighty  sum 

Of  things  for  ever  speaking, 
That  nothing  of  itself  will  come 

But  we  must  still  be  seeking? 


Children's  Reading  75 

X 

I  have  been  talking  to-day  about  children ;  and  find 
that  most  of  the  while  I  have  been  thinking,  if  but  sub- 
consciously, of  poor  children.  Now,  at  the  end,  you 
may  ask  "Why,  lecturing  here  at  Cambridge,  is  he  pre- 
occupied with  poor  children  who  leave  school  at  fourteen 
and  under,  and  thereafter  read  no  poetry?"  .  .  .  Oh, 
yes !  I  know  all  about  these  children  and  the  hopeless, 
wicked  waste;  these  with  a  common  living-room  to 
read  in,  a  father  tired  after  his  day's  work,  and  (for 
parental  encouragement)  just  the  two  words  ' '  Get  out !" 
A  Scots  domine  writes  in  his  log : 

I  have  discovered  a  girl  with  a  sense  of  humour.  I  asked 
my  qualifying  class  to  draw  a  graph  of  the  attendance  at  a 
village  kirk.  "And  you  must  explain  away  any  rise  or  fall," 
I  said. 

Margaret  Steel  had  a  huge  drop  one  Sunday,  and  her 
explanation  was  "Special  Collection  for  Missions."  Next 
Sunday  the  Congregation  was  abnormally  large :  Margaret 
wrote  "  Change  of  Minister.  "  .  .  .  Poor  Margaret !  When 
she  is  fourteen,  she  will  go  out  into  the  fields,  and  in  three 
years  she  will  be  an  ignorant  country  bumpkin. 

And  again : 

Robert  Campbell  (a  favourite  pupil)  left  the  school  to-day. 
He  had  reached  the  age-limit.  .  .  .  Truly  it  is  like  death :  I 
stand  by  a  new-made  grave,  and  I  have  no  hope  of  a  resur- 
rection.   Robert  is  dead. 

Precisely  because  I  have  lived  on  close  terms  with 
this,  and  the  wicked  waste  of  it,  I  appeal  to  you  who 


76  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

are  so  much  more  fortunate  than  this  Robert  or  this 
Margaret  and  will  have  far  more  to  say  in  the  world,  to 
think  of  them — how  many  they  are.  I  am  not  senti- 
mentalising. When  an  Elementary  Schoolmaster 
spreads  himself  and  tells  me  he  looks  upon  every  child 
entering  his  school  as  a  potential  Lord  Chancellor,  I 
answer  that,  as  I  expect,  so  I  should  hope,  to  die  before 
seeing  the  world  a  Woolsack.  Jack  cannot  ordinarily  be 
as  good  as  his  master;  if  he  were,  he  would  be  a  great 
deal  better.  You  have  given  Robert  a  vote,  however, 
and  soon  you  will  have  to  give  it  to  Margaret.  Can 
you  not  give  them  also,  in  their  short  years  at  school, 
something  to  sustain  their  souls  in  the  long  Valley  of 
Humiliation  ? 

Do  you  remember  this  passage  in  The  Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress— as  the  pilgrims  passed  down  that  valley? 

Now  as  they  were  going  along  and  talking,  they  espied  a 
Boy  feeding  his  Father's  Sheep.  The  Boy  was  in  very  mean 
Cloaths,  but  of  a  very  fresh  and  well-favoured  Countenance, 
and  as  he  sate  by  himself  he  Sung.  Hark,  said  Mr.  Great- 
heart,  to  what  the  Shepherd's  Boy  saith. 

Well,  it  was  a  very  pretty  song,  about  Contentment. 

He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall, 

He  that  is  low,  no  Pride: 
He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 

Have  God  to  be  his  Guide. 

But  I  care  less  for  its  subject  than  for  the  song.  Though 
life  condemn  him  to  live  it  through  in  the  Valley  of 
Humiliation,  I  want  to  hear  the  Shepherd  Boy  singing. 


ON  READING  FOR  EXAMINATIONS 


V/OU,  Gentlemen,  who  so  far  have  followed  with 
patience  this  course  of  lectures,  advertised,  maybe 
too  ambitiously,  as  "On  the  Art  of  Reading, "  will  recall 
to  your  memory,  when  I  challenge  it  across  the  intervals 
of  Vacation,  that  three  propositions  have  been  pretty 
steadily  held  before  you. 

The  first:  (bear  me  out)  that,  man's  life  being  of  the 
length  it  is,  and  his  activities  multifarious  as  they  are, 
out  of  the  mass  of  printed  matter  already  loaded  and 
still  being  shot  upon  this  planet,  he  must  make  selection. 
There  is  no  other  way. 

The  second:  that — the  time  and  opportunity  being  so 
brief,  the  mass  so  enormous,  and  the  selection  therefore 
so  difficult — he  should  select  the  books  that  are  best  for 
him,  and  take  them  absolutely,  not  frittering  his  time 
upon  books  written  about  and  around  the  best :  that — 
in  their  order,  of  course — the  primary  masterpieces 
shall  come  first,  and  the  secondary  second,  and  so  on; 
and  mere  chat  about  any  of  them  last  of  all. 

My  third  proposition  (perhaps  more  discutable)  has 
been  that,  the  human  soul's  activities  being  separated, 
so  far  as  we  can  separate  them,  into  What  Does,  What 

77 


78  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Knows,  What  Is — to  he  such-and-such  a  man  ranks 
higher  than  either  knowing  or  doing  this,  that,  or  the 
other:  that  it  transcends  all  man's  activity  upon  pheno- 
mena, even  a  Napoleon's:  all  his  housed  store  of  know- 
ledge, though  it  be  a  Casaubon's  or  a  Mark  Pattison's : 
that  only  by  learning  to  be  can  we  understand  or  reach, 
as  we  have  an  instinct  to  reach,  to  our  right  place  in  the 
scheme  of  things:  and  that,  any  way,  all  the  greatest 
literature  commands  this  instinct.  To  be  Hamlet — to 
feel  yourself  Hamlet — is  more  important  than  kilHng 
a  king  or  even  knowing  all  there  is  to  be  known  about 
a  text.  Now  most  of  us  have  been  Hamlet;  more  or  less : 
while  few  of  us,  I  trust,  have  ever  murdered  a  monarch : 
and  still  fewer,  perhaps,  can  hope  to  know  all  that  is  to 
be  known  of  the  text  of  the  play.  But  for  value,  Gentle- 
men, let  us  not  rank  these  three  achievements  by  order 
of  their  rarity.  Shakespeare  means  us  to  feel — to  be — 
Hamlet.  That  is  all :  and  from  the  play  it  is  the  best  we 
can  get. 


II 


Now  in  talking  to  you,  last  term,  about  children  I 
had  perforce  to  lay  stress  on  the  point  that,  with  all  this 
glut  of  literature,  the  mass  of  children  in  our  common- 
wealth, who  leave  school  at  fourteen  go  forth  starving. 

But  you  are  happier.  You  are  happier,  not  in  having 
your  selection  of  reading  in  English  done  for  you  at 
school  (for  you  have  in  the  Public  Schools  scarce  any 
such  help) :  but  happier  (i)  because  the  time  of  learning 


On  Reading  for  Examinations       79 

is  so  largely  prolonged,  and  (2)  because  this  most 
difficult  office  of  sorting  out  from  the  mass  what  you 
should  read  as  most  profitable  has  been  tentatively  per- 
formed for  you  by  us  older  men  for  your  relief.  For 
example,  those  of  you — "if  any,"  as  the  Regulations 
say — who  will,  a  week  or  two  hence,  be  sitting  for 
Section  A  of  the  Mediaeval  and  Modern  Languages 
Tripos,  have  been  spared,  all  along,  the  laborious  busi- 
ness of  choosing  what  you  should  read  or  read  with 
particular  attention  for  the  good  of  your  souls.  Is 
Chaucer  your  author?  Then  you  will  have  read  (or 
ought  to  have  read)  The  Parlement  of  Fowles,  the  Pro- 
logue to  The  Canterbury  Tales,  The  Knight's  Tale,  The 
Man  of  Law's  Tale,  The  Nun  Priest's  Tale,  The  Doctor's 
Tale,  The  Pardoner's  Tale  with  its  Prologue,  The  Friar's 
Tale.  You  were  not  dissuaded  from  reading  Troilus; 
you  were  not  forbidden  to  read  all  the  Canterbury  Tales, 
even  the  naughtiest ;  but  the  works  that  I  have  mentioned 
have  been  "prescribed"  for  you.  So,  of  Shakespeare, 
we  do  not  discourage  you  (at  all  events,  inten- 
tionally) from  reading  Macbeth,  Othello,  As  You  Like  It, 
The  Tempest,  any  play  you  wish.  In  other  years  we 
"set"  each  of  these  in  its  turn.  But  for  this  Year  of 
Grace  we  insist  upon  King  John,  The  Merchant  of  Venice, 
King  Henry  IV,  Part  I,  Much  Ado  about  Nothing, 
Hamlet,  King  Lear,  "certain  specified  works" — and  so 
on,  with  other  courses  of  study.  Why  is  this  done?  Be 
fair  to  us,  Gentlemen.  We  do  it  not  only  to  accommo- 
date the  burden  to  your  backs,  to  avoid  overtaxing 
one-and-a-half  or  two  years  of  study;  not  merely  to 


8o  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

guide  you  that  you  do  not  dissipate  your  reading,  that 
you  shall — with  us,  at  any  rate — know  where  you  are. 
We  do  it  chiefly,  and  honestly — you  likewise  being 
honest — to  give  you  each  year,  in  each  prescribed 
course,  a  sound  nucleus  of  knowledge,  out  of  which, 
later,  your  minds  can  reach  to  more.  We  are  not,  in 
the  last  instance,  praiseworthy  or  blameworthy  for  your 
range.  I  think,  perhaps,  too  little  of  a  man's  range  in 
his  short  while  here  between  (say)  nineteen  and  twenty- 
two.  For  anything  I  care,  the  kernel  may  be  as  small 
as  you  please.  To  plant  it  wholesome,  for  a  while  tend 
to  it  wholesome,  then  to  show  it  the  sky  and  that  it  is 
wide — not  a  hot-house,  nor  a  brassy  cupola  over  a  man, 
but  an  atmosphere  shining  up  league  on  league;  to 
reach  the  moment  of  saying,  "All  this  now  is  yours,  if 
you  have  the  perseverance  as  I  have  taught  you  the 
power,  coelum  nactus  es,  hoc  exorna" :  this,  even  in  our 
present  Tripos,  we  endeavour  to  do. 


Ill 


All  very  well.     But,  as  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 
asked, 

Do  ye  hear  the  children  weeping,  O  my  brothers? 

"Yes,"  I  hear  you  ingeminate;  "but  what  about  ex- 
aminations? We  thank  you,  sirs,  for  thus  relieving  and 
guiding  us:  we  acknowledge  your  excellent  intentions. 
But  in  practice  you  hang  up  a  bachelor's  gown  and  hood 
on  a  pole,  and  right  under  and  just  in  front  of  it  you 


On  Reading  for  Examinations       8i 

set  the  examination-barrier.  For  this  in  practice  we  run 
during  three  years  or  so,  and  to  this  all  the  time  you 
are  exhorting,  directing  us — whether  you  mean  it  or 
not,  though  we  suspect  that  you  cannot  help  yourselves. 
Yes;  and,  as  labouring  swimmers  will  turn  their  eyes 
even  to  a  little  boat  in  the  offing,  I  hear  you  pant,  "This 
man  at  all  events — always  so  insistent  that  good  litera- 
ture teaches  What  Is  rather  than  What  Knows — will 
bring  word  that  we  may  float  on  our  backs,  bathe, 
enjoy  these  waters  and  be  refreshed,  instead  of  striving 
through  them  competitive  for  a  goal.  He  must  condemn 
Hterary  examinations,  nine  tenths  of  which  treat  Litera- 
ture as  matter  of  Knowledge  merely." 


IV 


I  am  sorry,  Gentlemen :  I  cannot  bring  you  so  much 
of  comfort  as  all  that.  I  have  a  love  of  the  past  which, 
because  it  goes  down  to  the  roots,  has  sometimes  been 
called  Radicalism:  I  could  never  consent  with  Bacon's 
gibe  at  antiquity  as  pessimum  conjurium,  and  examina- 
tions have  a  very  respectable  antiquity.  Indeed  no  uni- 
versity to  my  knowledge  has  ever  been  able  in  the  long 
run  to  do  without  them :  and  although  certain  colleges 
— icing's  College  and  New  College  at  Oxford — for  long 
persevered  in  the  attempt,  the  result  was  not  alto- 
gether happy,  and  in  the  end  they  have  consigned  to 
custom. 

Of  course  universities  have  experimented  with  the 
process.     Let  me  give  you  two  or  three  ancient  examples 

6 


82  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

which  may  help  you  to  see  (to  vary  Wordsworth)  that 
though  "the  Form  decays,  the  function  never  dies." 

(i)  I  begin  with  most  ancient  Bologna,  famous  for 
Civil  Law.  At  Bologna  the  process  of  graduation — of 
admission  to  the  JW5  docendi,  "right  to  teach" — con- 
sisted of  two  parts,  the  Private  Examination  and  the 
Public  (conventus) : 

The  private  Examination  was  the  real  test  of  competence, 
the  so-called  public  Examination  being  in  practice  a  mere 
ceremony.  Before  admission  to  each  of  these  tests  the  candi- 
date was  presented  by  the  Consiliarius  of  his  Nation  to  the 
Rector  for  permission  to  enter  it,  and  swore  that  he  had 
complied  with  all  the  statutable  conditions,  that  he  would 
give  no  more  than  the  statutable  fees  or  entertainments  to 
the  Rector  himself,  the  Doctor,  or  his  fellow-students,  and 
that  he  would  obey  the  Rector.  Within  a  period  of  eight 
days  before  the  Examination  the  candidate  was  presented 
by  "his  own"  Doctor  or  by  some  other  Doctor  or  by  two 
Doctors  to  the  Archdeacon,  the  presenting  Doctor  being 
required  to  have  satisjfied  himself  by  private  examination  of 
his  presentee's  fitness.  Early  on  the  morning  of  the  Ex- 
amination, after  attending  a  Mass  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  the 
candidate  appeared  before  the  assembled  College  and  was 
assigned  by  one  of  the  Doctors  present  two  passages  (puncta) 
in  the  Civil  or  Canon  Law  as  the  case  might  be.  He  then 
retired  to  his  house  to  study  the  passages,  in  doing  which  it 
would  appear  that  he  had  the  assistance  of  the  presenting 
Doctor.  Later  in  the  day  the  Doctors  were  summoned  to 
the  Cathedral,  or  some  other  public  building,  by  the  Arch- 
deacon, who  presided  over  but  took  no  active  part  in  the 
ensuing  examination.  The  candidate  was  then  introduced 
to  the  Archdeacon  and  Doctors  by  the  presenting  Doctor  or 
Promoter  as  he  was  styled.  The  Prior  of  the  College  then 
administered  a  number  of  oaths  in  which  the  candidate 
promised  respect  to  that  body  and  solemnly  renounced  all 


On  Reading  for  Examinations       83 

the  rights  of  which  the  College  had  succeeded  in  robbing  all 
Doctors  of  other  Colleges  not  included  in  its  ranks.  The 
candidate  then  gave  a  lecture  or  exposition  of  the  two  pre- 
pared passages :  after  which  he  was  examined  upon  them  by- 
two  of  the  Doctors  appointed  by  the  College.  Other  Doc- 
tors might  ask  supplementary  questions  of  Law  (which  they 
were  required  to  swear  that  they  had  not  previously  com- 
municated to  the  candidate)  arising  more  indirectly  out  of 
the  passages  selected,  or  might  suggest  objections  to  the 
answers.  With  a  tender  regard  for  the  feelings  of  their  com- 
rades at  this  "rigorous  and  tremendous  Examination"  (as 
they  style  it)  the  Statutes  required  the  Examiner  to  treat 
the  examinee  as  his  own  son. 

But,  knowing  what  we  do  of  parental  discipline  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  we  need  not  take  this  to  enjoin  a  weak 
excess  of  leniency. 

The  Examination  concluded,  the  votes  of  the  Doctors 
present  were  taken  by  ballot  and  the  candidate's  fate  deter- 
mined by  the  majority,  the  decision  being  announced  by  the 
Archdeacon. 

(2)  Let  us  pass  to  the  great  and  famous  University 
of  Paris.    At  Paris, 

In  1275,  if  not  earlier,  a  preliminary  test  (or  "Respon- 
sions")  was  instituted  to  ascertain  the  fitness  of  those  who 
wanted  to  take  part  in  the  public  performance.  At  these 
"Responsions"  which  took  place  in  the  December  before 
the  Lent  in  which  the  candidate  was  to  determine,  he  had  to 
dispute  in  Grammar  and  Logic  with  a  Master.  If  this  test 
was  passed  in  a  satisfactory  manner,  the  candidate  was 
admitted  to  the  Examen  Baccalariandorum,  Examination 
for  the  Baccalaureate,  which  was  conducted  by  a  board  of 
Examiners  appointed  by  each  Nation  for  its  own  candidates. 


84  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

The  duty  of  the  Examiners  was  twofold,  firstly  to  ascertain 
by  inspecting  the  schedules  given  by  his  Masters  that  the 
candidate  had  completed  the  necessary  residence  and 
attended  Lectures  in  the  prescribed  subjects,  and  secondly 
to  examine  him  in  the  contents  of  his  books.  If  he  passed 
this  Examination,  he  was  admitted  to  determine. 

Determination  was  a  great  day  in  the  student's  University 
life.  It  retained  much  of  its  primitive  character  of  a  stu- 
dent's festivity.  It  was  not,  it  would  seem,  till't'he  middle 
of  the  fifteenth  century  that  the  student's  Master  was  re- 
quired to  be  officially  present  at  it.  The  Speech-day  of  a 
Public  School  if  combined  with  considerably  more  than  the 
licence  of  the  Oxford  Encaenia  or  degree  day  here  in  May 
week  would  perhaps  be  the  nearest  modern  equivalent  of 
these  mediaeval  exhibitions  of  rising  talent.  Every  effort 
was  made  to  attract  to  the  Schools  as  large  an  audience  as 
possible,  not  merely  of  Masters  or  fellow-students,  but  if 
possible  of  ecclesiastical  dignitaries  and  other  distinguished 
persons.  The  friends  of  a  Determiner  who  was  not  success- 
ful in  drawing  a  more  distinguished  audience,  would  run 
out  into  the  streets  and  forcibly  drag  chance  passers-by  into 
the  School.  Wine  was  provided  at  the  Determiner's  ex- 
pense in  the  Schools:  and  the  day  ended  in  a  feast  [given  in 
imitation  of  the  Master's  Inception-banquets],  even  if 
dancing  or  torch-light  processions  were  forborne  in  defer- 
ence to  authority. 

I  may  add  here  in  parenthesis  that  the  thirstiness, 
always  so  remarkable  in  the  mediceval  man  whether  it 
make  him  strange  to  you  or  help  to  ingratiate  him  as 
a  human  brother,  seems  to  have  followed  him  even  into 
the  Tripos.  "It  was  not  only  after  a  university  exer- 
cise, "  says  the  historian  (Rashdall,  vol.  ii.,  p.  687)  "but 
during  its  progress  that  the  need  of  refreshment  was 
apt  to  be  felt.  .  .  .     Many  Statutes  allude — some  by 


On  Reading  for  Examinations       85 

way  of  prohibition,  but  not  always — to  the  custom  of 
providing  wine  for  the  Examiners  or  Temptator  [good 
word]  before,  during,  or  after  the  Examination.  At 
Heidelberg  the  Dean  of  the  Faculty  might  order  in 
drinks,  the  candidate  not.  At  Leipsic  the  candidate  is 
forbidden  to  treat  [facere  propinam]  the  Examiners  be- 
fore the 'Examination:  which  seems  sound.  At  Vienna 
(medical  school)  he  is  required  to  spend  a  florin  'pro 
confecHonibus.' " 


Now  when  we  come  to  England — that  is,  to  Oxford 
and  Cambridge,  which  ever  had  queer  ways  of  their 
own — we  find,  strange  to  say,  for  centuries  no  evidence 
at  all  of  any  kind  of  examination.  As  for  competitive 
examinations  like  the  defunct  Mathematical  and  Clas- 
sical Triposes  here — with  Senior  Wranglers,  Wooden 
Spoons,  and  what  lay  between — of  all  European  uni- 
versities, Louvain  alone  used  the  system  and  may  have 
invented  it.  At  Louvain  the  candidates  for  the  master- 
ship were  placed  in  three  classes,  in  each  of  which  the 
names  were  arranged  in  order  of  merit.  The  first  class 
were  styled  Rigorosi  (Honour-men),  the  second  Tran- 
sibiles  (Pass-men) ,  the  third  Gratiosi  (Charity -passes) ; 
while  a  fourth  class,  not  publicly  announced,  contained 
the  names  of  those  who  could  not  be  passed  on  any 
terms.  ''Si  autem  {quod  absit!),''  says  the  Statute, 
"aliqui  inveniantur  refutabiles,  erunt  de  quarto  ordine.'' 
"These  competitive  examinations" — I  proceed  in  the 


86  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

historian's  words — "contributed  largely  to  raise  Lou- 
vain  to  the  high  position  as  a  place  of  learning  and 
education  which  it  retained  before  the  universities 
were  roused  from  their  fifteenth  century  torpor  by  the 
revival  of  Learning."  Pope  Adrian  VI  was  one  of  its 
famous  Primuses,  and  Jansen  another.  The  college 
which  produced  a  Primus  enjoyed  three  days'  holiday, 
during  which  its  bell  was  rung  continuously  day  and 
night. 

At  Oxford  and  Cambridge  (I  repeat)  we  find  in  their 
early  days  no  trace  of  any  examination  at  all.  To  be 
sure — and  as  perhaps  you  know — the  first  archives  of 
this  University  were  burned  in  the  "Town  and  Gown" 
riots  of  1 38 1  by  the  Townsmen,  whose  descendants 
Erasmus  describes  genially  as  "combining  the  utmost 
rusticity  with  the  utmost  malevolence."  But  no  stud- 
ent will  doubt  that  Cambridge  used  pretty  much  the 
same  system  as  Oxford,  and  the  system  was  this: — 
When  a  candidate  presented  himself  before  the  Chan- 
cellor for  a  Licence  in  Arts,  he  had  to  swear  that  he  had 
heard  certain  books,  ^  and  nine  Regent  Masters  (besides 
his  own  Master,  who  presented  him)  were  required  to 
depose  to  their  knowledge   {de  scientia)  of  his  sufii- 

*  Why  had  he  to  swear  this  under  pain  of  excommunication,  when  the 
lecturer  could  so  easily  keep  a  roll-call?  But  the  amount  of  oath  taking 
in  a  mediaeval  university  was  prodigious.  Even  college  servants  were 
put  on  oath  for  their  duties:  Gyps  invited  their  own  damnation,  bed- 
makers  kissed  the  book.  Abroad,  where  examinations  were  held,  the 
Examiner  swore  not  to  take  a  bribe,  the  Candidate  neither  to  give  one, 
nor,  if  unsuccessful,  to  take  his  vengeance  on  the  Examiner  with  a  knife 
or  other  sharp  instrument.  At  New  College,  Oxford,  the  matriculating 
undergraduate  was  required  to  swear  in  particular  not  to  dance  in  the 
College  Chapel. 


On  Reading  for  Examinations       87 

ciency :  and  five  others  to  their  credence  {de  credulitate) , 
says  the  Statute.  Only  in  the  School  of  Theology  was 
no  room  allowed  to  credulity :  there  all  the  Masters  had 
to  depose  "of  their  knowledge,"  and  one  black  ball 
excluded. 

VI 

Well,  you  may  urge  that  this  method  has  a  good  deal 
to  be  said  for  it.  I  will  go  some  way  to  meet  you  too: 
but  first  you  must  pay  me  the  compliment  of  supposing 
me  a  just  man.  Being  a  just  man,  and  there  also  being 
presumed  in  me  some  acquaintance  with  English 
Literature — not  indeed  much — not  necessarily  much — 
but  enough  to  distinguish  good  writing  from  bad  or, 
at  any  rate,  real  writing  from  sham,  and  at  least  to  have 
an  inkling  of  what  these  poets  and  prose-writers  were 
trying  to  do — why  then  I  declare  to  you  that,  after  two 
years'  reading  with  a  man  and  talk  with  him  about 
literature,  I  should  have  a  far  better  sense  of  his  in- 
dustry, of  his  capacity,  of  his  performance  and  (better) 
of  his  promise,  than  any  examination  is  likely  to  yield 
me.  In  short  I  could  sign  him  up  for  a  first,  second,  or 
third  class,  or  as  refutabilis,  with  more  accuracy  and 
confidence  than  I  could  derive  from  taking  him  as  a 
stranger  and  pondering  his  three  or  four  days'  perfor- 
mance in  a  Tripos.  For  some  of  the  best  men  mature 
slowly :  and  some,  if  not  most,  of  the  best  writers  write 
slowly  because  they  have  a  conscience;  and  the  most 
original  minds  are  just  those  for  whom,  in  a  literary 
examination,  it  is  hardest  to  set  a  paper. 


88  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

But  the  process  (you  will  admit)  might  be  invidious, 
might  lend  itself  to  misunderstanding,  might  conceiv- 
ably even  lead  to  re-imposition  of  an  oath  forbidding 
the  use  of  a  knife  or  other  sharp  implement.  And 
among  colleges  rivalry  is  not  altogether  unknown; 
and  dons,  if  unlike  other  men  in  outward  aspect, 
sometimes  resemble  them  in  frailty;  and  in  short  I  am 
afraid  we  shall  have  to  stick  to  the  old  system  for  a 
while  longer.  I  am  sorry,  Gentlemen :  but  you  see  how 
it  works. 


VII 


Yet — and  I  admit  it — the  main  objection  abides: 
that,  while  Literature  deals  with  What  Is  rather  than 
with  What  Knows,  Examinations  by  their  very  nature 
test  mere  Knowledge  rather  than  anything  else :  that  in 
the  hands  of  a  second-rate  examiner  they  tend  to  test 
knowledge  alone,  or  what  passes  for  knowledge:  and 
that  in  the  very  run  of  this  world  most  examiners  will 
be  second-rate  men :  which,  if  we  remind  ourselves  that 
they  receive  the  pay  of  fifth  rate  ones  is,  after  all,  con- 
siderably better  than  we  have  a  right  to  expect. 

We  are  dealing,  mind  you,  with  English  Literature 
— our  own  literature.  In  examining  upon  a  foreign 
literature  we  can  artfully  lay  our  stress  upon  knowledge 
and  yet  neither  raise  nor  risk  raising  the  fatal  questions, 
' '  What  is  it  all  about  ?"  "  What  is  it,  and  why  is  it  it ? ' ' 
— since  merely  to  translate  literally  a  chorus  of  the 
— ^Agamemnon,  or  an  ode  of  Pindar's,  or  a  passage  from 


On  Reading  for  Examinations       89 

Dante  or  Moliere  is  a  creditable  performance ;  to  trans- 
late either  well  is  a  considerable  feat;  and  to  translate 
either  perfectly  is  what  you  can't  do,  and  the  examiner 
knows  you  can't  do,  and  you  know  the  examiner  can't 
do,  and  the  examiner  knows  you  know  he  can't  do.  But 
when  we  come  to  a  fine  thing  in  our  own  language — 
to  a  stanza  from  Shelley's  Adonais  for  instance: 

He  has  outsoared  the  shadow  of  our  night ; 

Envy  and  calumny  and  hate  and  pain, 
And  that  unrest  which  men  miscall  delight, 

Can  touch  him  not  and  torttue  not  again; 

From  the  contagion  of  the  world's  slow  stain 
He  is  secure,  and  now  can  never  mourn 

A  heart  grown  cold,  a  head  grown  grey  in  vain ; 
Nor,  when  the  spirit's  self  has  ceased  to  burn, 
With  sparkless  ashes  load  an  unlamented  urn — 

what  can  you  do  with  that  ?  How  can  you  examine  on 
that?  Well,  yes,  you  can  request  the  candidate,  to 
"Write  a  short  note  on  the  word  calumny  above,"  or 
ask  ' '  From  what  is  it  derived  ? "  "  What  does  he  know 
of  Blackwood' s  Magazine  ?  "  "  Can  he  quote  any  parallel 
allusion  in  Byron  ? "  You  can  ask  all  that :  but  you  are 
not  getting  within  measurable  distance  of  it.  Your 
mind  is  not  even  moving  on  the  right  plane..  Or  let  me 
turn  back  to  some  light  and  artless  Elizabethan  thing — 
say  to  the  Oenone  duet  in  Peele's  Arraignment  of  Paris: 

Oenone.     Fair  and  fair  and  twice  so  fair, 
As  fair  as  any  may  be : 
The  fairest  shepherd  on  oiu*  green, 
A  love  for  any  lady. 


90  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Paris.       Fair  and  fair  and  twice  so  fair, 

As  fair  as  any  may  be : 
Thy  love  is  fair  for  thee  alone, 

And  for  no  other  lady. 
Oenone.     My  love  is  fair,  my  love  is  gay, 

As  fresh  as  bin  the  flowers  in  May, 
And  of  my  love  my  roundelay, 
My  merry  merry  merry  roundelay 

Concludes  with  Cupid's  curse: 
They  that  do  change  old  love  for  new, 

Pray  gods  they  change  for  worse.  .  .  . 

My  love  can  pipe,  my  love  can  sing, 
My  love  can  many  a  pretty  thing, 
And  of  his  lovely  praises  ring 
My  merry  merry  merry  roundelays: 

"Amen"  to  Cupid's  curse: 
They  that  do  change  old  love  for  new. 

Pray  gods  they  change  for  worse. 
Ambo.       Fair  and  fair  and  twice  so  fair. 

As  fair  as  any  may  be : 
The  fairest  shepherd  on  our  green, 

A  love  for  any  lady.  .  .  . 

How  can  anyone  examine  on  that?  How  can  any  one 
solemnly  explain,  in  a  hurry,  answering  one  of  five  or 
six  questions  selected  from  a  three  hours'  paper,  just 
why  and  how  that  hits  him  ?  And  yet,  if  it  hit  him  not, 
he  is  lost.  If  even  so  simple  a  thing  as  that — a  thing  of 
silly  sooth — do  not  hit  him,  he  is  all  unfit  to  traffic  with 
literature. 

VIII 


You  see  how  delicate  a  business  it  is.    Examination 
in  Literature,  being  by  its  very  nature  so  closely  tied 


On  Reading  for  Examinations       91 

down  to  be  a  test  of  Knowledge,  can  hardly,  save  when 
used  by  genius,  with  care,  be  any  final  test  of  that 
which  is  better  than  Knowledge,  of  that  which  is  the 
crown  of  all  scholarship,  of  understanding. 

But  do  not  therefore  lose  heart,  even  in  your  reading 
for  strict  purposes  of  examination.  Our  talk  is  of 
reading.  Let  me  fetch  you  some  comfort  from  the  sister 
and  correlative,  but  harder,  art  of  writing. 

I  most  potently  believe  that  the  very  best  writing,  in 
verse  or  in  prose,  can  only  be  produced  in  moments  o: 
high  excitement,  or  rather  (as  I  should  put  it)  in  thosd 
moments  of  still  and  solemn  awe  into  which  a  noble 
excitement  lifts  a  man.  Let  me  speak  only  of  prose,  of 
which  you  may  more  cautiously  allow  this  than  of  verse. 
I  think  of  St.  Paul's  glorious  passage,  as  rendered  in  the 
Authorised  version,  concluding  the  fifteenth  chapter  of 
his  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians.  First,  as  you  know, 
comes  the  long,  swaying,  scholastic,  somewhat  sophisti- 
cated argument  about  the  evidence  of  resurrection; 
about  the  corn,  "that  which  thou  sowest,  "  the  vivifica- 
tion,  the  change  in  vivification,  and  the  rest.  All  this, 
almost  purely  argumentative,  should  be  read  quietly, 
with  none  of  the  bravura  which  your  prize  reader 
lavishes  on  it.  The  argument  works  up  quietly — at 
once  tensely  and  sinuously,  but  very  quietly — to  convic- 
tion. Then  comes  the  hush ;  and  then  the  authoritative 
voice  speaking  out  of  it,  awful  and  slow,  "Behold,  I 
shew  you  a  mystery"  .  .  .  and  then,  all  the  latent 
emotion  of  faith  taking  hold  and  lifting  the  man  on  its 
surge,  "For  the  trumpet  shall  sound,  and  the  dead  shall 


92  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

be  raised  incorruptible"  .  .  .  and  so,  incorruption 
tolling  down  corruption,  the  trumpet  smashes  death 
underfoot  in  victory :  until  out  of  the  midst  of  tumult, 
sounds  the  recall ;  sober,  measured,  claiming  the  purified 
heart  back  to  discipline.  "Therefore,  my  beloved 
brethren,  be  ye  stedfast,  unmoveable,  always  abounding 
in  the  work  of  the  Lord,  forasmuch  as  ye  know  that  your 
labour  is  not  in  vain  in  the  Lord." 

I  think  of  that  triumphant  passage.  I  think  of  the 
sentences  with  which  Isaak  Walton  ends  his  life  of 
Donne.  I  think  of  the  last  pages  of  Motley's  Dutch 
Republic,  with  its  eulogy  on  William  the  Silent  so  ex- 
quisitely closing : 

As  long  as  he  lived,  he  was  the  guiding-star  of  a  whole 
brave  nation,  and  when  he  died  the  little  children  cried  in 
the  streets. 

I  think  of  two  great  prose  passages  in  Thackeray's 
Esmond;  of  Landor's  Dream  of  Boccaccio  .  .  .  and  so 
on :  and  I  am  sure  that,  in  prose  or  in  verse,  the  best  that 
man  can  utter  flows  from  him  either  in  moments  of 
high  mental  excitement  or  in  the  hush  of  that  AUitudo 
to  which  high  excitement  lifts  him. 

But,  first  now,  observe  how  all  these  passages — and 
they  are  the  first  I  call  to  mind — rise  like  crests  on  a 
large  bulk  of  a  wave — St.  Paul's  on  a  labouring  argu- 
ment about  immortality;  Motley's  at  the  conclusion  of 
a  heavy  task.  Long  campaigning  brings  the  reward  of 
Harry  Esmond's  return  to  Castle  wood,  long  intrigue 
of  the  author's  mind  with  his  characters  closes  that 


On  Reading  for  Examinations       93 

febrile  chapter  in  which  Harry  walks  home  to  break 
the  news  of  the  death  of  the  Duke  of  Hamilton — in 
the  early  morning  through  Kensington,  where  the  news- 
boys are  already  shouting  it : 

The  world  was  going  to  its  business  again,  although  dukes 
lay  dead  and  ladies  mourned  for  them.  ...  So  day  and 
night  pass  away,  and  to-morrow  comes,  and  our  place  knows 
us  not.  Esmond  thought  of  the  courier  now  galloping  on 
the  north  road  to  inform  him,  who  was  Earl  of  Arran 
yesterday,  that  he  was  Duke  of  Hamilton  to-day,  and  of  a 
thousand  great  schemes,  hopes,  ambitions,  that  were  alive 
in  the  gallant  heart,  beating  but  a  few  hours  since,  and  now 
in  a  little  dust  quiescent. 

And  on  top  of  this  let  me  assure  you  that  in  writing,  or 
learning  to  write,  solid  daily  practice  is  the  prescription 
and  "waiting  upon  inspiration"  a  lure.  These  crests 
only  rise  on  the  back  of  constant  labour.  Nine  days, 
according  to  Homer,  Leto  travailed  with  Apollo:  but 
he  was  Apollo,  lord  of  Song.  I  know  this  to  be  true  of 
ordinary  talent:  but,  supposing  you  all  to  be  geniuses, 
I  am  almost  as  sure  that  it  holds  of  genius.  Listen  to 
this: 

Napoleon  I  used  to  say  that  battles  were  won  by  the 
sudden  flashing  of  an  idea  through  the  brain  of  a  commander 
at  a  certain  critical  instant.  The  capacity  for  generating 
this  sudden  electric  spark  was  military  genius.  ,  .  .  Napo- 
leon seems  always  to  have  counted  upon  it,  always  to  have 
believed  that  when  the  critical  moment  arrived  the  wild 
confusion  of  the  battlefield  would  be  illuminated  for  him 
by  that  burst  of  sudden  flame.  But  if  Napoleon  had  been 
ignorant  of  the  prosaic  business  of  his  profession,  to  which  he 


94  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

attended  more  closely  than  any  other  commander,  would  these 
moments  of  supreme  clearness  have  availed  him,  or  would 
they  have  come  to  him  at  all  ? 

My  author  thinks  not :  and  I  am  sure  he  is  right.  So, 
in  vvrriting,  only  out  of  long  preparation  can  come  the 
truly  triumphant  flash:  and  I  ask  you  to  push  this 
analogy  further,  into  the  business  of  reading,  even  of  read- 
ing for  examination.  You  learn  to  discipline  yourselves, 
you  acquire  the  art  of  marshalling,  of  concentrating, 
driving  your  knowledge  upon  a  point:  and — for 
you  are  young — that  point  is  by  no  means  the  final 
point.  Say  that  it  is  only  an  examination,  and  silly  at 
that.  Still  you  have  been  learning  the  art,  you  have 
been  training  yourself  to  be,  for  a  better  purpose, 
effective. 


IX 


Yet,  and  when  this  has  been  granted,  the  crucial 
question  abides  and  I  must  not  shirk  it — "you  say  that 
the  highest  literature  deals  with  What  Is  rather  than 
with  What  Knows.  It  is  all  very  fine  to  assure  us  that 
testing  our  knowledge  about  Literature  and  around 
Literature,  and  on  this  side  or  that  side  of  Literature, 
is  healthy  for  us  in  some  oblique  way:  but  can  you 
examiners  examine,  or  can  you  not,  on  Literature  in 
what  you  call  its  own  and  proper  category  of  What  Is?" 

So  I  hear  the  question — the  question  which  beats 
and  has  beaten,  over  and  over  again,  good  men  trying 
to  construct  Schools  of  English  in  our  universities. 


On  Reading  for  Examinations       95 

With  all  sense  of  a  responsibility,  of  a  difficulty,  that 
has  lain  on  my  mind  for  these  five  years,  I  answer, 
Gentlemen,  "Yes,  we  ought:  yes,  we  can:  and  yes,  we 
will." 

But,  for  the  achievement,  we  teachers  must  first  know 
how  to  teach.  When  that  is  learned,  examination  will 
come  as  a  consequent,  easy,  almost  trivial  matter.  I 
will,  for  example — having  already  allowed  how  hard  it 
is  to  examine  on  literature — take  the  difficulty  at  its 
very  extreme.  I  will  select  a  piece  of  poetry,  and  the 
poet  shall  be  Keats — on  whom,  if  on  any  one,  is  felt  the 
temptation  to  write  gush  and  loose  aesthetic  chatterj 
A  pupil  comes  to  read  with  me,  and  I  open  at  the 
famous  Ode  to  a  Grecian  Urn. 

(i)  We  read  it  through  together,  perhaps  twice;  at 
the  second  attempt  getting  the  emphasis  right,  and 
some,  at  any  rate,  of  the  modulations  of  voice.  So  we 
reach  a  working  idea  of  the  Ode  and  what  Keats  meant 
it  to  be. 

(2)  We  then  compare  it  with  his  other  Odes,  and 
observe  that  it  is  (a)  regular  in  stanza  form,  {b)  in  spite 
of  its  outburst  in  the  third  stanza — * '  More  happy  love ! 
more  happy,  happy  love"  etc. — much  severer  in  tone 
than,  e.g.,  the  Ode  to  a  Nightingale  or  the  Ode  to  Psyche, 
(c)  that  the  emotion  is  not  luscious,  but  simple,  (d) 
that  this  simplicity  is  Hellenic,  so  far  as  Keats  can 
compass  it,  and  (e)  eminently  well-suited  to  its  subject, 
which  is  a  carven  urn,  gracious  but  severe  of  outUne;  a 
moment  of  joy  caught  by  the  sculptor  and  arrested,  for 
time  to  perpetuate ;  yet — and  this  is  the  point  of  the  Ode 


96  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

— conveying  a  sense  that  innocent  gaiety  is  not  only 
its  own  excuse,  but  of  human  things  one  of  the  few 
eternal — and  eternal  just  because  it  is  joyous  and 
fleeting. 

(3)  Then  we  go  back  and  compare  this  kind  of  quiet 
immortal  beauty  with  the  passionate  immortality 
hymned  in  the  Nightingale  Ode 

Thou  wast  not  born  for  death,  immortal  Bird ! 
No  hungry  generations  tread  thee  down.  .  . 

with  all  the  rest  of  that  supreme  stanza:  from  which 
(with  some  passages  my  reading  supplies  to  illustrate 
the  difference)  we  fall  to  contrasting  the  vibrating 
thrill  of  the  Nightingale  with  the  happy  grace  of  the 
Grecian  Urn  and,  allowing  each  to  be  appropriate,  dis- 
pute for  a  while,  perhaps,  over  the  merits  of  classical 
calm  and  romantic  thrill. 

(4)  From  this  we  proceed  to  examine  the  Ode  in 
detail  line  by  line :  which  examination  brings  up  a  whole 
crowd  of  questions,  such  as 

(a)  We  have  a  thought  enounced  in  the  first  stanza. 
Does  the  Ode  go  on  to  develop  and  amplify  it,  as  an 
Ode  should?  Or  does  Pegasus  come  down  again  and 
again  on  the  prints  from  which  he  took  off?  If  he  d' 
this,  and  the  action  of  the  Ode  be  dead  and  unpro- 
gressive,  is  the  defect  covered  by  beauty  of  language? 
Can  such  defect  ever  be  so  covered? 

(^)  Lines  15  and  16  anticipate  lines  21-24,  which 
are  saying  the  same  thing  and  getting  no  forwarder. 

iy)  We  come  to  the  lines 


On  Reading  for  Examinations       97 

What  little  town  by  river  or  sea  shore 
Or  mountain-built  with  peaceful  citadel, 
Is  emptied  of  this  folk,  this  pious  mom? 

with  the  answering  lines 

And,  little  town,  thy  streets  for  evermore 
Will  silent  be;  and  not  a  soul  to  tell 

Why  thou  art  desolate,  can  e'er  return — 

and  we  note  Sir  Sidney  Colvin's  suggestion  that  this 
breaks  in  upon  an  arrest  of  art  as  though  it  were  an 
arrest  on  reality :  and  remember  that  he  raised  a  some- 
what similar  question  over  The  Nightingale;  and  com- 
paring them,  discuss  truth  of  emotion  against  truth  of 
reality. 

We  come  to  the  last  stanza  and  lament,  "O  Attic 
shape!  Fair  attitude"  for  its  jingle:  but  note  how  the 
poet  recovers  himself  and  brings  the  whole  to  a  grand 
close. 

I  have,  even  yet,  mentioned  but  a  few  of  the  points. 
For  one,  I  have  omitted  its  most  beautiful  vowel-play, 
on  which  teacher  and  pupil  can  dwell  and  learn  to- 
gether. And  heaven  forbid  that  as  a  teacher  I  should 
insist  even  on  half  of  those  I  have  indicated.  A  teacher, 
as  I  hold,  should  watch  for  what  his  pupil  divines  of 
his  own  accord ;  but  if,  trafficking  with  works  of  inspira- 
tion, he  have  no  gift  to  catch  that  inspiration  nor  power 
to  pass  it  on,  then  I  say,  "Heaven  help  him!  but  he  has 
no  valid  right  on  earth  to  be  in  the  business." 

And  if  a  teacher  have  all  these  chances  of  teaching — 
mind  you,  of  accurate  teaching — suppHed  him  by  a 


98  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

single  Ode  of  Keats,  do  you  suppose  we  cannot  set  in 
an  Examination  paper  one  intelligent  question  upon  it, 
in  its  own  lawful  category? 

Gentlemen,  with  the  most  scrupulous  tenderness  for 
aged  and  even  decrepit  interests,  we  have  been  trying 
to  liberate  you  from  certain  old  bad  superstitions  and 
silently  laying  the  stones  of  a  new  School  of  English, 
which  we  believe  to  be  worthy  even  of  Cambridge. 

Our  proposals  are  before  the  University.  Should 
they  be  passed,  still  everything  will  depend  on  the 
loyalty  of  its  teachers  to  the  idea;  and  on  that  enthu- 
siasm which  I  suppose  to  be  the  nurse  of  all  studies  and 
know  to  be  the  authentic  cherishing  nurse  of  ours.  We 
may  even  have  conceded  too  much  to  the  letter,  but  we 
have  built  and  built  our  trust  on  the  spirit  "which 
maketh  alive." 


ON  A  SCHOOL  OF  ENGLISH 


IT  is  now,  Gentlemen,  five  years  less  a  term  since, 
feeling  (as  they  say  of  other  offenders)  my  position 
acutely,  I  had  the  honour  of  reading  an  Inaugural  before 
this  University  and  the  impudence  to  loose,  in  the 
course  of  it,  a  light  shaft  against  a  phrase  in  the  very 
Ordinance  defining  the  duties  of  this  Chair. 

"It  shall  be  the  duty  of  the  Professor,"  says  the  Ordin- 
ance, "to  deliver  courses  of  lectures  on  English  Literature 
from  the  age  of  Chaucer  onwards,  and  otherwise  to  promote, 
so  far  as  may  be  in  his  power,  the  study  in  the  University 
of  the  subject  of  English  Literature." 

That  was  the  phrase  at  which  I  glanced — ' '  the  subject 
of  English  Literature";  and  I  propose  that  we  start 
to-day,  for  reasons  that  will  appear,  by  subjecting  this 
subject  to  some  examination. 


II 


"The  Subject  of  EngHsh  Literature."  Surely — ^for  a 
start — there  is  no  such  thing ;  or  rather,  may  we  not  say 
that  everything  is,  has  been  or  can  be,  a  subject  of 
EngUsh  Literature?    Man's  loss  of  Paradise  has  been 

99 


100  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

a  subject  of  English  Literature,  and  so  has  been  a 
Copper  Coinage  in  Ireland,  and  so  has  been  Roast 
Sucking-pig,  and  so  has  been  Holy  Dying,  and  so  has 
been  Mr.  Pepys's  somewhat  unholy  living,  and  so  have 
been  Ecclesiastical  Polity,  The  Grail,  Angling  for  Chub, 
the  Wealth  of  Nations,  The  Sublime  and  the  Beautiful, 
The  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  Prize- 
Fights,  Grecian  Urns,  Modern  Painters,  Intimations  of 
Immortality  in  early  Childhood,  Travels  with  a  Donkey, 
Rural  Rides  and  Rejected  Addresses — all  these  have 
been  subjects  of  English  Literature :  as  have  been  human 
complots  and  intrigues  as  wide  asunder  as  Othello  and 
The  School  for  Scandal;  persons  as  different  as  Prome- 
theus and  Dr.  Johnson,  Imogen  and  Moll  Flanders, 
Piers  the  Plowman  and  Mr.  Pickwick ;  places  as  differ- 
ent as  Utopia  and  Cranford,  Laputa  and  Reading  Gaol. 
Epipsychidion  is  literature:  but  so  is  A  Tale  of  a 
Tub. 
Listen,  for  this  is  literature: 

If  some  king  of  the  earth  have  so  large  an  extent  of  do- 
minion, in  north,  and  south,  so  that  he  hath  winter  and 
summer  together  in  his  dominions,  so  large  an  extent  east 
and  west  as  that  he  hath  day  and  night  together  in  his 
dominions  much  more  hath  God  mercy  and  judgment  to- 
gether :  He  brought  light  out  of  darkness,  not  out  of  a  lesser 
light;  he  can  bring  thy  summer  out  of  winter,  though  thou 
have  no  spring;  though  in  the  ways  of  fortune,  or  under- 
standing, or  conscience,  thou  have  been  benighted  till  now, 
wintered  and  frozen,  clouded  and  eclipsed,  damped  and  be- 
numbed, smothered  and  stupefied  till  now,  now  God  comes 
to  thee,  not  as  in  the  dawning  of  the  day,  not  as  in  the  bud 
of  the  spring,  but  as  the  sun  at  noon  to  illustrate  all  shadows, 


On  a  School  of  English  loi 

as  the  sheaves  in  harvest,  to  fill  all  penuries,  all  occasions 
invite  his  mercies,  and  all  times  are  his  seasons.  * 

But  listen  again,  for  this  also  is  literature: 

A  sweet  disorder  in  the  dress 

Kindles  in  clothes  a  wantonness : 

A  lawn  about  the  shoulders  thrown 

Into  a  fine  distraction : 

An  erring  lace,  which  here  and  there 

Enthrals  the  crimson  stomacher : 

A  cuff  neglectful,  and  thereby 

Ribbons  to  flow  confusedly : 

A  winning  wave,  deserving  note, 

In  the  tempestuous  petticoat : 

A  careless  shoe-string,  in  whose  tie 

I  see  a  wild  civility ! 

Do  more  bewitch  me  than  when  art 

Is  too  precise  in  every  part. 

Here  again  is  literature : 

When  I  was  a  child,  at  seven  years  old,  my  friends  on  a 
holiday  filled  my  pockets  with  coppers.  I  went  directly  to  a 
shop  where  they  sold  toys  for  children ;  and  being  charmed 
with  the  soimd  of  a  whistle  that  I  met  by  the  way  in  the 
hands  of  another  boy,  I  voluntarily  offered  him  all  my 
money  for  one.  I  then  came  home  and  went  whistling  all 
over  the  house,  much  pleased  with  my  whistle  but  disturb- 
ing all  the  family.  My  brothers  and  sisters  and  cousins, 
understanding  the  bargain  I  had  made,  told  me  I  had  given 
four  times  as  much  for  it  as  it  was  worth.  .  .  .  The  re- 
flection gave  me  more  chagrin  than  the  whistle  gave  me 
pleasure. 

[Benjamin  Franklin.] 

'  Donne's  Sermon  II  preached  at  Pauls  upon  Christmas  Day  in  the 
Evening.     1624. 


102  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Of  a  bridal,  this  is  literature : 

Open  the  temple*  gates  unto  my  love, 
Open  them  wide  that  she  may  enter  in! 

But  so  also  is  Suckling's  account  of  a  wedding  that 

begins 

I  tell  thee,  Dick,  where  I  have  been. 

This  is  literature : 

And  a  man  shall  be  as  an  hiding  place  from  the  wind,  and 
a  covert  from  the  tempest ; 
As  rivers  of  water  in  a  dry  place, 
As  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land. 

But  so  is  this  literature : 

One  circle  cannot  touch  another  circle  on  the  outside  at 
more  points  than  one. 

For,  if  it  be  possible,  let  the  circle  A  CK  touch  the  circle 
ABC  aX  the  points  A  C.    Join  A  C. 

Then  because  the  two  points  A  C  are  in  the  circumference 
of  the  circle  A  CK  the  line  which  joins  them  falls  within  that 
circle. 

But  the  circle  ACK  is  without  the  circle  ABC.  There- 
fore the  straight  line  ACis  without  the  circle  ABC. 

But  because  the  two  points  A ,  C  are  in  the  circumference 
of  ABC  therefore  the  straight  line,  A,  C  falls  within  that 
circle.     Which  is  absurd. 

Therefore  one  circle  cannot  touch  another  on  the  outside 
at  more  points  than  one. 

All  thoughts,  as  well  as  all  passions,  all  delights 

votum,  timor,  ira,  voluptas — 

whatsoever,  in  short,  engages  man's  activity  of  soul  or 
body,  may  be  deemed  the  subject  of  literature  and  is 


On  a  School  of  English  103 

transformed  into  literature  by  process  of  recording  it  in 
memorable  speech.  It  is  so,  it  has  been  so,  and  God 
forbid  it  should  ever  not  be  so ! 


Ill 


Now  this,  put  so,  is  (you  will  say)  so  extremely  ob- 
vious that  it  must  needs  hide  a  fallacy  or  at  best  a 
quibble  on  a  word.  I  shall  try  to  show  that  it  does  not : 
that  it  directly  opposes  plain  truth  to  a  convention  ac- 
cepted by  the  Ordinance,  and  that  the  fallacy  Hes  in 
that  convention. 

A  convention  may  be  defined  as  something  which  a 
number  of  men  have  agreed  to  accept  in  lieu  of  the 
truth  and  to  pass  off  for  the  truth  upon  others:  I  was 
about  to  add,  preferably  when  they  can  catch  them 
young:  but  some  recent  travel  in  railway  trains  and 
listening  to  the  kind  of  stuff  men  of  mature  years  de- 
liver straight  out  of  newspapers  for  the  products  of 
their  own  digested  thought  have  persuaded  me  that  the 
ordinary  man  is  as  susceptible  at  fifty,  sixty,  or  even 
seventy  as  at  any  earlier  period  of  growth,  and  that  the 
process  of  incubation  is  scarcely  less  rapid. 

I  am  not,  to  be  sure,  concerned  to  deny  that  there 
may  be  conventions  useful  enough  to  society,  serving 
it  to  maintain  government,  order,  public  and  private 
decency,  or  the  commerce  on  which  it  must  needs  rest  to 
be  a  civilised  society  at  all — commerce  of  food,  commerce 
of  clothing,  and  so  on,  up  to  commerce  in  knowledge 
and    ideas.      Government    itself — any    form    of    it — 


104  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

is  a  convention;  marriage  is  a  convention;  money  of 
course  is  a  convention,  and  the  alphabet  itself  I  suppose 
to  contain  as  many  conventions  as  all  the  old  Courts  of 
Love  and  Laws  of  Chivalry  put  together,  and  our 
English  alphabet  one  tremendous  fallacy,  that  twenty- 
six  letters,  separately  or  in  combination  are  capable  of 
symbolising  all  the  sounds  produced  by  an  English- 
man's organs  of  speech,  let  alone  the  sounds  he  hears 
from  foreigners,  dogs,  guns,  steam-engines,  motor-horns 
and  other  friends  and  enemies  to  whom  we  deny  the 
franchise.  Also  of  course  it  ignores  the  whole  system  of 
musical  notes — another  convention — which  yet  with 
many  of  the  older  bards  could  hardly  be  separated  from 
the  words  they  used,  though  now  only  the  words  sur- 
vive and  as  literature. 


IV 


But  every  convention  has  a  fallacy  somewhere  at  the 
root ;  whether  it  be  useful  and  operative,  as  many  a  legal 
fiction  is  operative,  for  good ;  or  senile,  past  service  yet 
tyrannous  by  custom,  and  so  pernicious;  or  merely 
foolish,  as  certain  artistic  conventions  are  traceable, 
when  a  Ruskin  comes  to  judgment,  back  to  nothing 
better  than  folly:  and  it  becomes  men  of  honest  mind, 
in  dealing  with  anything  recognisable  as  a  convention, 
to  examine  its  accepted  fallacy,  whether  it  be  well 
understood  or  ill  understood;  beneficent  or  pernicious 
or  merely  foolish  or  both  foolish  and  pernicious:  and 
this  is  often  most  handily  done  by  tracing  its  history. 


On  a  School  of  English  105 

Now  I  shall  assume  that  the  f ramers  of  the  Ordinance 
regulating  the  duties  of  this  chair  knew  well  enough,  of 
their  own  reading,  that  English  Literature  deals  with  a 
vast  variety  of  subjects :  and  that,  if  any  piece  of  writing 
miss  to  deal  with  its  particular  subject,  so  closely  that 
theme  and  treatment  can  scarcely  be  separated,  by  so 
much  will  it  be  faulty  as  literature.  Milton  is  fairly 
possessed  with  the  story  of  Man's  fall,  Boswell  pos- 
sessed with  Johnson,  Shelley  with  hatred  of  tyranny  in 
all  its  manifestations,  Mill  again  with  the  idea  of 
Liberty :  and  it  is  only  because  we  had  knowledge  pre- 
sented to  us  at  an  age  when  we  thought  more  attentively 
of  apples,  that  we  still  fail  to  recognise  in  Euclid  and  Dr. 
Todhunter  two  writers  who  are  excellent  because  pos- 
sessed with  a  passion  for  Geometry. 

I  infer,  then,  that  the  framers  of  the  Ordinance,  when 
they  employed  this  phrase  "the  study  of  the  subject  of 
English  Literature,"  knew  well  enough  that  no  such 
thing  existed  in  nature,  but  adopted  the  convention 
that  English  Literature  could  be  separated  somehow 
from  its  content  and  treated  as  a  subject  all  by  itself, 
for  teaching  purposes :  and,  for  purposes  of  examination, 
could  be  yoked  up  with  another  subject  called  English 
Language,  as  other  universities  had  yoked  it. 


I  believe  the  following  to  be  a  fair  account  of  how 
these  examinations  in  English  Language  and  Litera- 
ture came  to  pass,  and  how  a  certain  kind  of  student 


io6  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

came  to  pass  these  Examinations.  At  any  rate  since 
the  small  revolution  has  happened  in  my  life-time 
and  most  of  it  since  I  was  able  to  observe,  the  account 
here  is  drawn  from  my  own  observation  and  may  be 
checked  and  corrected  by  yours. 

Thirty-five  or  forty  years  ago — say  in  the  late  seven- 
ties or  early  eighties — some  preparatory  schools,  and 
others  that  taught  older  boys  but  ranked  below  the 
great  Public  Schools  in  repute,  taught  so  much  of 
English  Literature  as  might  be  comprised,  at  a  rough 
calculation,  in  two  or  three  plays  of  Shakespeare,  edited 
by  Clark  and  Aldis  Wright;  a  few  of  Bacon's  Essays, 
Milton's  early  poems,  Stopford  Brooke's  little  primer, 
a  book  of  extracts  for  committal  to  memory,  with  per- 
haps Chaucer's  Prologue  and  a  Speech  of  Burke.  In 
the  great  Public  Schools  no  English  Literature  was 
studied,  save  in  those  which  had  invented  "Modern 
Sides,"  to  prepare  boys  specially  for  Woolwich  or  Sand- 
hurst or  the  Indian  Civil  Service;  for  entrance  to  which 
examinations  were  held  on  certain  prescribed  English 
Classics,  and  marks  mainly  given  for  acquaintance  with 
the  editors'  notes. 

In  the  universities,  the  study  of  English  Classics 
was  not  officially  recognised  at  all. 

Let  us  not  hastily  suppose  that  this  neglect  of  English 
rested  wholly  on  unreason,  or  had  nothing  to  say  for 
itself.  Teachers  and  tutors  of  the  old  Classical  Educa- 
tion (as  it  was  called)  could  plead  as  follows : 

"In  the  first  place, "  they  would  say,  "English  Literature 
is  too  easy  a  study.     Our  youth,  at  school  or  university. 


On  a  School  of  English  107 

starts  on  his  native  classics  with  a  habihty  which  in  any 
foreign  language  he  has  painfully  to  acquire.  The  voices 
that  murmured  around  his  cradle,  the  voice  of  his  nurse,  of 
his  governess,  of  the  parson  on  Sundays;  the  voices  of  village 
boys,  stablemen,  gamekeepers,  and  farmers — friendly  or 
unfriendly — of  callers,  acquaintances,  of  the  children  he 
met  at  Children's  Parties;  the  voices  that  at  the  dinner- 
table  poured  politics  or  local  gossip  into  the  little  pitcher 
with  long  ears — all  these  were  English  voices  speaking  in 
English :  and  all  these  were  all  the  while  insensibly  leading 
him  up  the  slope  from  the  summit  of  which  he  can  survey 
the  promised  land  spread  at  his  feet  as  a  wide  park ;  and  he 
holds  the  key  of  the  gates,  to  enter  and  take  possession. 
Whereas,"  the  old  instructors  would  continue,  "with  the 
classics  of  any  foreign  language  we  take  him  at  the  foot  of 
the  steep  ascent,  spread  a  table  before  him  {mensa,  mensa, 
mensam  .  .  .  and  coax  or  drive  him  up  with  variations 
upon  amo,  'I  love'  or  xc'tctw,  'I  beat,'  until  he,  too,  reaches 
the  summit  and  beholds  the  landscape: 

But  O,  what  labour! 
O  Prince,  what  pain!" 

Now  so  much  of  truth,  Gentlemen,  as  this  plea  con- 
tains was  admitted  last  term  by  your  Senate,  in  sepa- 
rating the  English  Tripos,  in  which  a  certain  linguistic 
familiarity  may  be  not  rashly  presumed  of  the  student, 
from  the  Foreign  Language  Triposes,  divided  into  two 
parts,  of  which  the  first  will  more  suspiciously  test  his 
capacity  to  construe  the  books  he  professes  to  have 
studied.  I  may  return  to  this  and  to  the  alleged  easiness 
of  studies  in  a  School  of  English.  Let  us  proceed  just 
now  with  the  reasoned  plea  for  neglect. 

These  admirable  old  schoolmasters  and  dons  would 
have  hesitated,  maybe,  to  say  flatly  with  Dogberry  that 


io8  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

"to  write  and  read  comes  by  nature  .  .  .  and  for  your 
writing  and  reading,  let  that  appear  when  there  is  no 
need  of  such  vanity."  But  in  practice  their  system  so 
worked,  and  in  some  of  the  Public  Schools  so  works  to 
this  day.  Let  me  tell  you  that  just  before  the  war  an 
undergraduate  came  to  me  from  the  Sixth  Form  of  one 
of  the  best  reputed  among  these  great  schools.  He 
wished  to  learn  to  write.  He  wished  (poor  fellow)  to 
write  me  an  essay,  if  I  would  set  him  a  subject.  He 
had  never  written  an  essay  at  school.  ' '  Indeed, "  said  I, 
"and  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should,  if  by  'essay' 
you  mean  some  little  treatise  about  'Patriotism'  or 
*A  Day  in  the  Country.'  I  will  choose  you  no  such 
subject  nor  any  other  upon  any  book  which  you  have 
never  read.  Tell  me,  what  is  your  Tripos?"  He  said 
' '  the  History  Tripos. "  "  Then, ' '  said  I ,  "  since  History 
provides  quite  a  large  number  of  themes,  choose  one 
and  I  will  try  to  correct  your  treatment  of  it,  without 
offence  to  your  opinions  or  prejudice  to  your  facts." 
"But,"  he  confessed,  "at  So-and-so" — naming  the 
great  Public  School — "we  never  wrote  out  an  account 
of  anything,  or  set  down  our  opinions  on  anything,  to 
be  corrected.  We  just  construed  and  did  sums."  And 
when  he  brought  me  his  first  attempt,  behold,  it  was  so. 
He  could  not  construct  a  simple  sentence,  let  alone 
putting  two  sentences  together;  while,  as  for  a  para- 
graph, it  lay  beyond  his  farthest  horizon.  In  short, 
here  was  an  instance  ready  to  hand  for  any  cheap  writer 
engaged  to  decry  the  old  Classical  Education. 
What  would  the  old  schoolmasters  plead  in  excuse? 


On  a  School  of  English  109 

Why  this,  as  I  suggest — ' '  You  cite  an  extreme  instance. 
But,  while  granting  English  Literature  to  be  great,  we 
would  point  out  that  an  overwhelming  majority  of  our 
best  writers  have  modelled  their  prose  and  verse  upon 
the  Greek  and  Roman  classics,  either  directly  or  through 
tradition.  Now  we  have  our  own  language  gratis,  so  to 
speak.  Let  us  spend  our  pains,  then,  in  acquiring  Latin 
and  Greek,  and  the  tradition.  So  shall  we  most  inti- 
mately enjoy  our  own  authors;  and  so,  if  we  wish  to 
write,  we  shall  have  at  hand  the  clues  they  followed,  the 
models  they  used." 

Now  I  have,  as  you  know.  Gentlemen,  a  certain  sym- 
pathy with  this  plea,  or  with  a  part  of  it:  nor  can  so 
much  of  truth  as  its  argument  contains  be  silenced  by 
a  "What  about  Shakespeare?"  or  a  "What  about 
Bunyan?"  or  a  "What  about  Burns?"  I  believe  our 
imaginary  pleader  for  the  Classics  could  put  up  a  stout 
defence  upon  any  of  those  names.  To  choose  the  for- 
lornest  hope  of  the  three,  I  can  hear  him  demonstrating, 
to  his  own  satisfaction  if  not  to  yours,  that  Bunyan  took 
his  style  straight  out  of  the  Authorised  Version  of  our 
Bible ;  which  is  to  say  that  he  took  it  from  the  styles  of 
forty-seven  scholars,  plus  Tyndale's,  plus  Coverdale's, 
plus  Cranmer's — the  scholarship  of  fifty  scholars  ex- 
pressed and  blended. 

But,  as  a  theory,  the  strict  classical  argument  gives 
itself  away,  as  well  by  its  intolerance  as  by  its  obvious 
distrust  of  the  genius  of  our  own  wonderful  language. 
I  have  in  these  five  years,  and  from  this  place, 
Gentlemen,  counselled  you  to  seek  back  ever  to  those 


1 10  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Mediterranean  sources  which  are  the  well-heads  of  our 
civilisation :  but  always  (I  hope)  on  the  understanding 
that  you  use  them  with  a  large  liberty.  They  are  effete 
for  us  unless  we  add  and  mingle  freely  the  juice  of 
our  own  natural  genius. 

And  in  practice  the  strict  classical  theory,  with  its 
implied  contempt  of  English,  has  been  disastrous: 
disastrous  not  only  with  the  ordinary  man — as  with  my 
Sixth  Form  boy  who  could  not  put  two  sentences  to- 
gether, and  had  read  no  English  authors ;  but  disastrous 
even  to  highly  eminent  scholars.  Listen,  pray,  to  this 
passage  from  one  of  them,  Frederick  Paley,  who  con- 
descended (Heaven  knows  why)  to  turn  the  majestic 
verse  of  Pindar  into  English  Prose — 

From  the  Vlllth  Isthmian: 

And  now  that  we  are  returned  from  great  sorrows,  let  us 
not  fall  into  a  dearth  of  victories,  nor  foster  griefs;  but  as  we 
have  ceased  from  our  tiresome  troubles,  we  will  publicly 
indulge  in  a  sweet  roundelay. 

From  the  IVth  Pythian: 

It  had  been  divinely  predicted  to  Pelias,  that  he  should 
die  by  the  doughty  sons  of  ^^olus  .  .  .  and  an  alarming 
oracle  had  come  to  his  wary  mind,  delivered  at  the  central 
point  of  tree-clad  mother-earth,  "that  he  must  by  all  means 
hold  in  great  caution  the  man  with  one  shoe,  when  he  shall 
have  come  from  a  homestead  on  the  hills." 

And  he  accordingly  came  in  due  time,  armed  with  two 
spears,  a  magnificent  man.  The  dress  he  wore  was  of  a 
double  kind,  the  material  costume  of  the  Magnesians.  .  .  . 
Nor  as  yet  had  the  glossy  clusters  of  his  hair  been  clipped 
away,  but  dangled  brightly  adown  his  back. 


On  a  School  of  English  iii 

Forward  he  went  at  once  and  took  his  stand  among  the 
people.  .  .  .  Him  then  they  failed  to  recognise:  but  some 
of  the  reverent-minded  went  so  far  as  to  say,  "Surely  this 
cannot  be  Apollo ! " 

It  needs  no  comment,  I  think.    Surely  this  cannot  be 
Apollo! 

Frederick  Paley  flourished — if  the  word  be  not  ex- 
orbitant for  so  demure  a  writer — in  the  middle  of  the 
last  century  (he  was  born  in  the  year  of  Waterloo  and 
died  in  the  year  after  Queen  Victoria's  first  Jubilee). 
Well,  in  that  period  there  grew  up  a  race  of  pioneers 
who  saw  that  English  Literature — that  proud  park  and 
rolling  estate — lay  a  tangled,  neglected  wilderness  for 
its  inheritors,  and  set  themselves  bravely  to  clear  broad 
ways  through  it.  Furnivall  and  Skeat,  Aldis  Wright, 
Clark,  Grosart,  Arber,  Earle,  Hales,  Morris,  Ellis,  and 
the  rest — who  can  rehearse  these  names  now  but  in 
deepest  respect  ?  Oh,  believe  me.  Gentlemen !  they  were 
wonderful  fighters  in  a  cause  that  at  first  seemed  hope- 
less. If  I  presume  to  speak  of  foibles  to-day,  you  will 
understand  that  I  do  so  because,  lightly  though  I  may 
talk  to  you  at  times,  I  have  a  real  sense  of  the  responsi- 
bilities of  this  Chair.  I  worship  great  learning,  which 
they  had :  I  loathe  flippant  detraction  of  what  is  great ; 
I  have  usually  a  heart  for  men-against-odds  and  the 
unpopular  cause.  But  these  very  valiant  fighters  had, 
one  and  all,  some  very  obvious  foibles:  and  because, 
in  the  hour  of  success,  these  foibles  came  to  infect  the 
whole  teaching  of  English  in  this  country,  and  to  infect 
it  fatally  for  many  years,  I  shall  dare  to  point  them  out. 


112  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

VI 

(a)  To  begin  with,  then,  these  vaHant  fighters,  intent 
on  pushing  their  cause  to  the  front,  kept  no  sense  of 
proportion.  All  their  geese  were  swans,  and  Beowulf  a 
second  Iliad.  I  think  it  scarcely  too  much  to  say  that, 
of  these  men,  all  so  staunch  in  fighting  for  the  claims  of 
English  Literature,  not  one  (with  the  exception  of  Dr. 
Hales)  appears  to  have  had  any  critical  judgment  what- 
ever, apart  from  the  rhyme,  verse,  and  inflectional  tests 
on  which  they  bestowed  their  truly  priceless  industry. 
Criticism,  as  Sainte  Beuve,  Matthew  Arnold,  or  Pater 
understood  and  practised  it,  they  merely  misprized. 

(b)  I  think  it  was  of  true  scholarly  desire  to  vindicate 
English  Literature  from  the  charge  of  being  "too  easy," 
that — as  their  studies  advanced — they  laid  more  and 
more  stress  on  Middle-English  and  Old  English  writings 
than  on  what  our  nations  of  England  and  Scotland  have 
written  since  they  learned  to  write.  I  dare  to  think  also 
that  we  may  attribute  to  this  dread  of  "easiness"  their 
practice  of  cumbering  simple  texts  with  philological 
notes;  on  which,  rather  than  on  the  text,  we  unhappy 
students  were  carefully  examined.  For  an  example  sup- 
plied to  Dr.  Corson — I  take  those  three  lines  of  Cowper's 
Task  (Bk.  I,  86-88) : 

Thus  first  necessity  invented  stools, 
Convenience  next  suggested  elbow-chairs, 
And  luxury  th'  accomplish'd  Sofa  last. 

Now  in  these  three  lines  the  word  "accomplish'd"  is 
the  only  one  that  needs  even  the  smallest  explanation. 


On  a  School  of  English  113 

"But,"  says  Dr.  Corson,  "in  two  different  editions  of 
The  Task  in  my  library,  prepared  for  the  use  of  the 
young,  no  explanation  is  given  of  it,  but  in  both  the 
Arabic  origin  of  "sofa"  is  given.  In  one  the  question  is 
asked  what  other  words  in  English  have  been  derived 
from  the  Arabic. "  ("  Abracadabra ' '  would  be  my  little 
contribution.) 

(c)  These  valiant  fighters — having  to  extol  what 
Europe  had,  wrongly  enough,  forgotten  to  count  among 
valuable  things — turned  aggressively  provincial,  parted 
their  beards  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  fashion ;  composed  long 
sentences  painfully  innocent  of  any  word  not  derivable 
from  Anglo-Saxon,  sentences  in  which  the  "impenetra- 
bility of  matter"  became  the  " un-go-throughsomeness 
of  stuff  "  (but  that  may  have  happened  in  a  parody),  and 
in  general  comported  themselves  Hke  the  Anglo-Saxons 
they  claimed  for  their  forbears ;  rightly  enough  for  any- 
thing any  one  cared,  but  wrongly  enough  for  the  rest 
of  us  who  had  no  yearning  toward  that  kinship  and 
went  on  spelling  Alfred  with  an  A. 

{d)  They  were — I  suppose  through  opposition — ex- 
tremely irascible  men ;  like  farmers.  Urbanity  was  the 
last  note  in  their  gamut,  the  City — urbs  quam  dicunt 
Roman — the  last  of  places  in  their  ken.  There  was  no 
engaging  them  in  dialectic,  an  Athenian  art  which  they 
frankly  despised.  If  you  happened  to  disagree  with 
them,  their  answer  was  a  sturdy  Anglo-Saxon  brick. 
If  you  politely  asked  your  way  to  Puddlehampton,  and 
to  be  directed  to  Puddlehampton's  main  objects  of 
interest,  the  answer  you  would  get  (see  "Notes  and 


114  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Queries''  passim)  would  be,  "Who  is  this  that  comes  out 
of  Nowhere,  enquiring  for  Puddlehampton,  unac- 
quainted with  Stubbs?  Is  it  possible  at  this  time  of 
day  that  the  world  can  contain  any  one  ignorant  of  the 
published  Transactions  of  the  Wiltshire  Walking  Club, 
vol.  iii.,  p.  159 — Puddlehampton,  its  Rise  and  Decline, 
with  a  note  on  Vespasian." 

(e)  These  pioneers — pushing  the  importance  of  Eng- 
lish, but  occupied  more  and  more  with  origins  and 
with  bad  authors,  simply  could  not  see  the  vital  truth; 
that  EngHsh  Literature  is  a  continuing  thing,  ten  times 
more  alive  to-day  than  it  was  in  the  times  they  studied 
and  belauded.  The  last  word  upon  them  is  that  not 
a  man  of  them  could  write  prose  in  the  language  they 
thrust  on  our  study.  To  them,  far  more  than  to  the 
old  classical  scholars,  English  was  a  shut  book;  a  large 
book,  but  closed  and  clasped,  material  to  heighten  a 
desk  for  schoolmasters  and  schoolmistresses. 

But  schoolmasters  and  schoolmistresses,  like  chickens 
and  curses,  come  home  to  roost.  Once  set  up  your  plea 
for  a  Tripos  of  English  Language  and  Literature  on 
the  lower  plea  that  it  will  provide  for  what  they  call  a 
"felt  want, "  and  sooner  or  later  you  give  English  Lan- 
guage and  Literature  into  their  hands,  and  then  you  get 
the  fallacy  full-flowered  into  a  convention.  English 
Literature  henceforth  is  a  "subject, "  divorced  from  life: 
and  what  they  have  made  of  it,  let  a  thousand  hand- 
books and  so-called  histories  attest.  But  this  world  is 
not  a  wilderness  of  class-rooms.  English  Language? 
They  cannot  write  it,  at  all  events.    They  do  not  (so 


On  a  School  of  English  115 

far  as  I  can  discover)  try  to  write  it.  They  talk  and  write 
about  it ;  how  the  poor  deceased  thing  outgrew  infantile 
ailments,  how  it  was  operated  on  for  umlaut,  how  it 
parted  with  its  vermiform  appendix  and  its  inflexions 
one  by  one  and  lost  its  vowel  endings  in  muted  e's. 

And  they  went  and  told  the  sexton, 
And  the  sexton  toll'd  the  bell. 

But  when  it  comes  to  writing;  to  keeping  bright  the 
noble  weapon  of  English,  testing  its  poise  and  edge, 
feeling  the  grip,  handing  it  to  their  pupils  with  the  word, 
"Here  is  the  sword  of  your  fathers,  that  has  cloven 
dragons.  So  use  it,  that  we  who  have  kept  it  bright 
may  be  proud  of  you,  and  of  our  pains,  and  of  its  con- 
tinuing valiance" : — why,  as  I  say,  they  do  not  even  try. 
Our  unprofessional  forefathers,  when  they  put  pen  to 
paper,  did  attempt  English  prose,  and  not  seldom 
achieved  it.  But  take  up  any  elaborate  History  of  Eng- 
lish Literature  and  read,  and,  as  you  read,  ask  your- 
selves, "How  can  one  of  the  rarest  delights  of  life  be 
converted  into  this?  What  has  happened  to  merry 
Chaucer,  rare  Ben  Jonson,  gay  Steele  and  Prior,  to 
Goldsmith,  Jane  Austen,  Charles  Lamb?" 

All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces! 

gone  into  the  professional  stock-pot!  And  the  next 
news  is  that  these  cooks,  of  whom  Chaucer  wrote  pro- 
phetically. 

These  cookes,  how  they  stampe  and  streyne  and  grinde, 
And  tumen  substaunce  into  accident, 


ii6  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

have  formed  themselves  into  professional  Associations 
to  protect  ' '  the  study  of  the  subject  of  English  Litera- 
ture" and  bark  off  any  intruder  who  would  teach  in 
another  way  than  theirs. 


VII 


But  I  say  to  you  that  Literature  is  not,  and  should 
not  be,  the  preserve  of  any  priesthood.  To  write  Eng- 
lish, so  as  to  make  Literature,  may  be  hard.  But  Eng- 
lish Literature  is  not  a  mystery,  not  a  Professors' 
Kitchen. 

And  the  trouble  lies,  not  in  the  harm  professionising 
does  to  schoolmasters  and  schoolmistresses,  but  in  the 
harm  it  does  "in  widest  commonalty  spread"  among 
men  and  women  who,  as  Literature  was  written  for 
them,  addressed  to  them,  ought  to  find  in  it,  all  their 
lives  through,  a  retirement  from  mean  occupations,  a 
well  of  refreshment,  sustainment  in  the  daily  drudgery 
of  life,  solace  in  calamity,  an  inmate  by  the  hearth,  ever 
sociable,  never  intrusive — to  be  sought  and  found,  to  be 
found  and  dropped  at  will : 

Men,  when  their  affairs  require 
Must  themselves  at  whiles  retire. 
Sometimes  hunt,  and  sometimes  hawk 
And  not  ever  sit  and  talk — 

to  be  dropped  at  will  and  left  without  any  answering 
growl  of  moroseness;  to  be  consulted  again  at  will  and 
found  friendly. 


On  a  School  of  English  117 

For  this  is  the  trouble  of  professionising  Literature. 
We  exile  it  from  the  business  of  life,  in  which  it 
would  ever  be  at  our  shoulder,  to  befriend  us.  Lis- 
ten, for  example,  to  an  extract  from  a  letter  written, 
a  couple  of  weeks  ago,  by  somebody  in  the  Charity 
Commission : 

Sir, 

With  reference  to  previous  correspondence  in  this  matter, 
I  am  to  say  that  in  all  the  circumstances  of  this  case  the 
Commissioners  are  of  the  opinion  that  it  would  be  desirable 
that  a  public  enquiry  in  connection  with  the  Charity  should 
be  held  in  the  locality. 

And  the  man — very  likely  an  educated  man — having 
written  that,  very  likely  went  home  and  read  Chaucer, 
Dante,  or  Shakespeare,  or  Burke  for  pleasure !  That  is 
what  happens  when  you  treat  literature  as  a  "subject," 
separable  from  life  and  daily  practice. 

VIII 

I  declare  to  you  that  Literature  was  not  written  for 
schoolmasters  or  for  schoolmistresses.  I  would  not  ex- 
change it  for  a  wilderness  of  schoolmasters.  It  should 
be  delivered  from  them,  who,  with  their  silly  ablauts 
and  "tendencies,"  can  themselves  neither  read  nor 
write.  For  the  proof?  Having  the  world's  quintessen- 
tial store  of  mirth  and  sharp  sorrow,  wit,  humour, 
comfort,  farce,  comedy,  tragedy,  satire;  the  glories  of 
our  birth  and  state,  piled  all  at  their  elbows,  only  one 
man  of  the  crowd — and  he  M.  Jusserand,  a  Frenchman 


ii8  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

— has  contrived  to  draw  out  of  the  mass  one  interesting 
well-written  history  of  the  "subject." 

IX 

Is  there,  then,  no  better  way?  Yes  there  is  a  better 
way:  for  the  French  have  it,  with  their  language  and 
literature.  In  France,  as  Matthew  Arnold  noted,  a 
generation  ago,  the  ordinary  journey-man  work  of 
literature  is  done  far  better  and  more  conscientiously 
than  with  us.  In  France  a  man  feels  it  almost  a  personal 
stain,  an  unpatriotic  Idche  to  write  even  on  a  police- 
order  anything  so  derogatory  to  the  tradition  of  his 
language  as  our  Cabinet  Ministers  read  out  as  answers 
to  our  House  of  Commons.  I  am  told  that  many  a 
Maire  in  a  small  provincial  town  in  N.  E.  France,  even 
when  overwhelmed — accable — with  the  sufferings  of  his 
town-folk,  has  truly  felt  the  iron  enter  into  his  soul  on 
being  forced  to  sign  a  document  written  out  for  him  in 
the  invaders'  French. 

Cannot  we  treat  our  noble  inheritance  of  literature 
and  language  as  scrupulously,  and  with  as  high  a  sense 
of  their  appertaining  to  our  national  honour,  as  a 
Frenchman  cherishes  his  language,  his  literature  ?  Can- 
not we  study  to  leave  our  inheritance — as  the  old  Athen- 
ian put  it  temperately,  "not  worse  but  a  little  better 
than  we  found  it?" 

I  think  we  can,  and  should.  I  shall  close  to-day. 
Gentlemen,  with  the  most  modest  of  perorations.  In 
my  first  lecture  before  you,  in  January,  1913,  I  quoted 
to  you  the  artist  in  Don  Quixote  who,  being  asked  what 


On  a  School  of  English  119 

animal  he  was  painting,  answered  diffidently,  "That  is 
as  it  may  turn  out." 

The  teaching  of  our  language  and  literature  is,  after 
all,  a  new  thing  and  still  experimental.  The  main  tenets 
of  those  who,  aware  of  this,  have  worked  on  the  scheme 
for  a  School  of  English  in  Cambridge,  the  scheme  re- 
cently passed  by  your  Senate  and  henceforth  to  be  in 
operation,  are  three : 

The  first.  That  literature  cannot  be  divorced  from 
life :  that  (for  example)  you  cannot  understand  Chaucer 
aright,  unless  you  have  the  background,  unless  you 
know  the  kind  of  men  for  whom  Chaucer  wrote  and 
the  kind  of  men  whom  he  made  speak;  that  is  the 
national  side  with  which  all  our  literature  is  concerned. 

The  second.  Literature  being  so  personal  a  thing,  you 
cannot  understand  it  until  you  have  some  personal 
understanding  of  the  men  who  wrote  it.  Donne  is 
Donne;  Swift,  Swift;  Pope,  Pope;  Johnson,  Johnson; 
Goldsmith,  Goldsmith;  Charles  Lamb,  Charles  Lamb; 
Carlyle,  Carlyle.  Until  you  have  grasped  those  men,  as 
men ,  you  cannot  grasp  their  writings.  That  is  the  person- 
al side  of  literary  study,  and  as  necessary  as  the  other. 

The  third.  That  the  writing  and  speaking  of  English 
is  a  living  art,  to  be  practised  and  (if  it  may  be)  im- 
proved. That  what  these  great  men  have  done  is  to 
hand  us  a  grand  patrimony ;  that  they  lived  to  support 
us  through  the  trial  we  are  now  enduring,  and  to  carry 
us  through  to  great  days  to  come.  So  shall  our  sons, 
now  fighting  in  France,  have  a  language  ready  for  the 
land  they  shall  recreate  and  repeople. 


THE  VALUE  OF  GREEK  AND  LATIN 
IN  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


f  HAVE  promised  you,  Gentlemen,  for  to-day  some 
observations  on  The  Value  of  Greek  and  Latin  in 
English  Literature:  a  mild,  academic  title,  a  camouflage 
title,  so  to  say ;  calculated  to  shelter  us  for  a  while  from 
the  vigilance  of  those  hot-eyed  reformers  who,  had  I 
advertised  The  Value  of  Greek  and  Latin  in  English 
Life  might  even  now  be  swooping  from  all  quarters  of 
the  sky  on  a  suggestion  that  these  dry  bones  yet  were 
flesh :  for  the  eyes  I  dread  are  not  only  red  and  angry, 
but  naturally  microscopic — and  that  indeed,  if  they 
only  knew  it,  is  their  malady.  Yet  "surely,"  groaned 
patient  Job,  "there  is  a  path  which  the  vulture's  eye 
hath  not  seen!" 

You,  at  any  rate,  know  by  this  time  that  wherever 
these  lectures  assert  literature  they  assert  life,  perhaps 
even  too  passionately,  allowing  neither  the  fact  of  death 
nor  the  possibility  of  divorce. 

II 

But  let  us  b^in  with  the  first  word,  "  Fa/we"— "The 
Valu-e  of  Greek  and  Latin  in  English  Literature. ' '   What 


The  Value  of  Greek  and  Latin     121 

do  I  mean  by  "Value."  Well,  I  use  it,  generally,  in  the 
sense  of  "worth";  but  with  a  particular  meaning,  or 
shade  of  meaning,  too.  And,  this  particular  meaning 
is  not  the  particular  meaning  intended  (as  I  suppose) 
by  men  of  commerce  who,  on  news  of  a  friend's  death, 
fall  a-musing  and  continue  musing  until  the  fire  kindles, 
and  they  ask,  "What  did  So-and-so  die  worth?"  or 
sometimes,  more  wisely  than  they  know,  "What  did 
poor  old  So-and-so  die  worth?"  or  again,  more  collo- 
quially, "What  did  So-and-so  'cut  up'  for?"  Neither 
is  it  that  which  more  disinterested  economists  used  to 
teach;  men  never  (I  fear  me)  loved,  but  anyhow  lost 
awhile,  who  for  my  green-unknowing  youth,  at  Thebes 
or  Athens — growing  older  I  tend  to  forget  which  is, 
or  was,  which — defined  the  Value  of  a  thing  as  its  "pur- 
chasing power, ' '  which  the  market  translates  into 
"price."  For — to  borrow  a  phrase  which  I  happened 
on,  the  other  day,  with  delight,  in  the  preface  to  a 
translation  of  Lucian — there  may  be  forms  of  educa- 
tion less  paying  than  the  commercial  and  yet  better 
worth  paying  for;  nay,  above  payment  or  computation 
in  price.* 

No:  the  particular  meaning  I  use  to-day  is  that 
which  artists  use  when  they  talk  of  painting  or  of 
music.  To  see  things,  near  or  far,  in  their  true  per- 
spective and  proportions;  to  judge  them  through  dis- 
tance; and  fetching  them  back,  to  reproduce  them  in 
art  so  proportioned  comparatively,  so  rightly  adjusted, 

'  The  Works  of  Lucian  of  Samosata:  translated  by  H.  W.  Fowler  and 
F.  G.  Fowler  (Introduction,  p.  xxix).    Oxford,  Clarendon  Press. 


122  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

that  they  combine  to  make  a  particular  and  just  per- 
spective :  that  is  to  give  things  their  true  Values. 

Suppose  yourself  reclining  on  a  bank  on  a  clear  day, 
looking  up  into  the  sky  and  watching  the  ascent  of  a 
skylark  while  you  listen  to  his  song.  That  is  a  posture 
in  which  several  poets  of  repute  have  placed  themselves 
from  time  to  time:  so  we  need  not  be  ashamed  of  it. 
Well,  you  see  the  atmosphere  reaching  up  and  up,  mile 
upon  mile.  There  are  no  milestones  planted  there.  But 
wave  on  wave  perceptible,  the  atmosphere  stretches  up 
through  indeterminate  distances ;  and  according  as  your 
painter  of  the  sky  can  translate  these  distances,  he  gives 
his  sky  what  is  called  Value. 

You  listen  to  the  skylark's  note  rising,  spiral  by 
spiral,  on  "the  very  jet  of  earth": 

As  up  he  wings  the  spiral  stair, 
A  song  of  light,  and  pierces  air 

With  fountain  ardour,  fountain  play, 
To  reach  the  shining  tops  of  day : 

and  you  long  for  the  musical  gift  to  follow  up  and  up 
the  delicate  degrees  of  distance  and  thread  the  notes 
back  as  the  bird  ascending  drops  them — on  a  thread, 
as  it  were,  of  graduated  beads,  half  music  and  half 
dew: 

That  was  the  chirp  of  Ariel 
You  heard,  as  overhead  it  flew, 
The  farther  going  more  to  dwell 
And  wing  our  green  to  wed  our  blue; 
But  whether  note  of  joy,  or  knell, 
Not  his  own  Father-singer  knew; 


The  Value  of  Greek  and  Latin     123 

Nor  yet  can  any  mortal  tell, 
Save  only  how  it  shivers  through; 
The  breast  of  us  a  sounded  shell, 
The  blood  of  us  a  lighted  dew. 

Well,  in  music,  in  painting,  this  graduating  which 
gives  right  proportion  and,  with  proportion,  a  sense  of 
distance,  of  atmosphere,  is  called  Value.  Let  us,  for  a 
minute  or  two,  assay  this  particular  meaning  of  Value 
upon  life  and  literature,  and  first  upon  Hfe,  or,  rather 
upon  one  not  negligible  facet  of  life. 

I  suppose  that  if  an  ordinary  man  of  my  age  were 
asked  which  has  better  helped  him  to  bear  the  burs  of 
life — religion  or  a  sense  of  humour — he  would,  were  he 
quite  honest,  be  gravelled  for  an  answer.  Now  the  best 
part  of  a  sense  of  humour,  as  you  know  without  my 
telling  you,  consists  in  a  sense  of  proportion;  a  habit, 
abiding  and  prompt  at  command,  of  seeing  all  human 
affairs  in  their  just  perspective,  so  that  its  happy  pos- 
sessor at  once  perceives  anything  odd  or  distorted  or 
overblown  to  be  an  excrescence,  a  protuberance,  a 
swelling,  literally  a  humour:  and  the  function  of  Thalia, 
the  Comic  Spirit,  as  you  may  read  in  Meredith's  Essay 
on  Comedy,  is  just  to  prick  these  humours.  I  will  but 
refer  you  to  Meredith's  Essay,  and  here  cite  you  the 
words  of  an  old  schoolmaster : 

It  would  seem  to  be  characteristic  of  the  same  mind  to 
appreciate  the  beauty  of  ideas  in  just  proportion  and  har- 
monious relation  to  each  other,  and  the  absurdity  of  the 
same  ideas  when  distorted  or  brought  into  incongruous 
juxtaposition.    The  exercise  of  this  sense  of  humour  .  .  . 


124  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

compels  the  mind  to  form  a  picture  to  itself,  accompanied 
by  pleasurable  emotion;  and  what  is  this  but  setting  the 
imagination  to  work,  though  in  topsy-turvy  fashion  ?  Nay, 
in  such  a  case,  imagination  plays  a  double  part,  since  it  is 
only  by  instantaneous  comparison  with  ideal  fitness  and 
proportion  that  it  can  grasp  at  full  force  the  grotesqueness 
of  their  contraries.  * 


Let  us  play  with  an  example  for  one  moment.  A 
child  sees  such  an  excrescence,  such  an  offence  upon 
proportion,  in  an  immoderately  long  nose.  He  is  apt  to 
call  attention  to  it  on  the  visage  of  a  visitor :  it  intrigues 
him  in  Perrault's  "Prince  Charming"  and  many  a  fairy 
tale:  it  amuses  him  in  Lear's  Book  oj Nonsense: 

There  was  an  old  man  with  a  Nose, 
Who  said,  "If  you  choose  to  suppose 

That  my  nose  is  too  long 

You  are  certainly  wrong — " 

This  old  man,  he  detects  as  lacking  sense  of  proportion, 
sense  of  humour.  Pass  from  the  child  to  the  working- 
man  as  we  know  him.  A  few  weeks  ago,  a  lady  featured, 
as  to  nose,  on  the  side  of  excess — was  addressing  a 
North  Country  audience  on  the  Economic  Position  of 
Women  after  the  War.  Said  she,  "There  won't  be  men 
to  go  round."  Said  a  voice,  "Eh,  but  they'll  have  to, 
Miss!"  Pass  from  this  rudimentary  criticism  to  high 
talent  employed  on  the  same  subject,  and  you  get 
Cyrano  de  Bergerac.     Pass  to  genius,  to  Milton,  and  you 

'  Ths  Training  of  the  Imagination:  by  James  Rhoades.  London,  John 
Lane,  1900. 


The  Value  of  Greek  and  Latin     125 

find  the  elephant  amusing  Adam  and  Eve  in  Paradise, 
and  doing  his  best : 

the  unwieldy  elephant, 
To  make  them  mirth,  used  all  his  might,  and  wreathed 
His  lithe  proboscis. 

Milton,  like  the  elephant,  jokes  with  difficulty,  but  he, 
too,  is  using  all  his  might. 


Ill 


I  have  illustrated,  crudely  enough,  how  a  sense  of 
things  in  their  right  values  will  help  us  on  one  side  of 
our  dealings  with  life.  But  truly  it  helps  us  on  every 
side.  This  was  what  Plato  meant  when  he  said  that  a 
philosopher  must  see  things  as  they  relatively  are  within 
his  horizon — o  ffwontiKog  diaksHrinos.  And  for  this 
it  was  that  an  English  poet  praised  Sophocles  as  one 

Who  saw  life  steadily,  and  saw  it  whole. 

And  this  of  course  is  what  Dean  Inge  meant  when,  the 
other  day,  in  a  volume  of  Cambridge  Essays  on  Educa- 
tion, he  reminded  us,  for  a  sensible  commonplace,  that 
"The  wise  man  is  he  who  knows  the  relative  values  of 
things." 


IV 


Applying  this  to  literature,  I  note,  but  shall  not 
insist  here  on  the  fact — though  fact  it  is — that  the 


126  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Greek  and  Roman  "  classical "  writers  (as  we  call  them) 
laid  more  stress  than  has  ever  been  laid  among  the  sub- 
sequent tribes  of  men  upon  the  desirability  of  getting 
all  things  into  proportion,  of  seeing  all  life  on  a  scale  of 
relative  values.  And  the  reason  I  shall  not  insist  on  this 
is  simply  that  better  men  have  saved  me  the  trouble. 

I  propose  this  morning  to  discuss  the  value  of  the 
classics  to  students  of  English  literature  from,  as  the 
modern  phrase  goes,  a  slightly  different  angle. 

Reclining  and  looking  up  into  that  sky  which  is  not 
too  grandiose  an  image  for  our  own  English  Literature, 
you  would  certainly  not  wish.  Gentlemen,  to  see  it  as 
what  it  is  not — as  a  cloth  painted  on  the  fiat.  No  more 
than  you  would  choose  the  sky  overarching  your  life  to 
be  a  close,  hard,  copper  vault,  would  you  choose  this 
literature  of  ours  to  resemble  such  a  prison.  I  say 
nothing,  for  the  moment,  of  the  thrill  of  comparing 
ours  with  other  constellations — of  such  a  thrill  as 
Blanco  White's  famous  sonnet  imagines  in  Adam's  soul 
when  the  first  night  descended  on  Eden  and 

Hesperus  with  the  host  of  heaven  came, 

And  lo!    Creation  widen'd  in  man's  view. 

Who  could  have  thought  such  darkness  lay  conceal'd 

Within  thy  beams,  O  sun!  .  .  . 

No :  I  simply  picture  you  as  desiring  to  realise  our  own 
literature,  its  depths  and  values,  mile  above  mile  deeper 
and  deeper  shining,  with  perchance  a  glimpse  of  a  city 
celestial  beyond,  or  at  whiles,  on  a  ladder  of  values,  of 
the  angels — the  messengers — climbing  and  returning. 


The  Value  of  Greek  and  Latin     127 

V 

Well,  now,  I  put  it  to  you  that  without  mental  breed- 
ing, without  at  least  some  sense  of  ancestry,  an  English- 
man can  hardly  have  this  perception  of  value,  this 
vision.  I  put  to  you  what  I  posited  in  an  earlier  course 
of  lectures,  quoting  Bagehot,  that  while  a  knowledge  of 
Greek  and  Latin  is  not  necessary  to  a  writer  of  English, 
he  should  at  least  have  a  firm  conviction  that  those  two 
languages  existed.  I  refer  you  to  a  long  passage  which, 
in  one  of  those  lectures,  I  quoted  from  Cardinal  New- 
man to  the  effect  that  for  the  last  three  thousand  years 
the  Western  World  has  been  evolving  a  human  society, 
having  its  bond  in  a  common  civilisation — a  society  to 
which  (let  me  add,  by  way  of  footnote) ,  Prussia  to-day 
is  firmly,  though  with  great  difficulty,  being  tamed. 
There  are,  and  have  been,  other  civilisations  in  the 
world — the  Chinese,  for  instance;  a  huge  civilisation, 
stationary,  morose,  to  us  unattractive;  "but  this  civilisa- 
tion, "  says  Newman,  "together  with  the  society  which 
is  its  creation  and  its  home,  is  so  distinctive  and  lumin- 
ous in  its  character,  so  imperial  in  its  extent,  so  impos- 
ing in  its  duration,  and  so  utterly  without  rival  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth,  that  the  association  may  fitly  assume 
for  itself  the  title  of  'Human  Society, '  and  its  civilisa- 
tion the  abstract  term  'Civilisation.'" 

He  goes  on : 

Looking,  then,  at  the  countries  which  surround  the  Medi- 
terranean Sea  as  a  whole,  I  see  them  to  be,  from  time  im- 
memorial, the  seat  of  an  association  of  intellect  and  mind 


128  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

such  as  deserves  to  be  called  the  Intellect  and  Mind  of  the 
Human  Kind. 

But  I  must  refer  you  to  his  famous  book  The  Idea 
of  a  University  to  read  at  length  how  Newman,  in 
that  sinuous,  sinewy,  Platonic  style  of  his,  works  it 
out — the  spread,  through  Rome,  even  to  our  shores, 
of  the  civilisation  which  began  in  Palestine  and 
Greece. 


VI 


I  would  press  the  point  more  rudely  upon  you,  and 
more  particularly,  than  does  Newman.  And  first,  for 
Latin — 

I  waive  that  Rome  occupied  and  dominated  this 
island  during  four  hundred  years.  Let  that  be  as  though 
it  had  never  been.  For  a  further  one  thousand  years 
and  more  Latin  remained  the  common  speech  of  edu- 
cated men  throughout  Europe:  the  "Universal  Lan- 
guage." Greek  had  been  smothered  by  the  Turk. 
Through  all  that  time — through  the  most  of  what  we 
call  Modern  History,  Latin  reigned  everywhere.  Is 
this  a  fact  to  be  ignored  by  any  of  you  who  would  value 
"values?" 

Here  are  a  few  particulars,  by  way  of  illustration. 
More  wrote  his  Utopia,  Bacon  his  Essays  and  all  the 
bulk  of  his  philosophical  work,  in  Latin ;  Newton  wrote 
his  Principia  in  Latin.  Keble's  Lectures  on  Poetry  (if 
their  worth  and  the  name  of  Keble  may  together  save 
me  from  bathos)  were  delivered  in  Latin.    Our  Vice- 


The  Value  of  Greek  and  Latin     129 

Chancellor,  our  Public  Orator  still  talk  Latin,  securing 
for  it  what  attention  they  can :  nor  have 

The  bigots  of  this  iron  time 

Yet  call'd  their  harmless  art  a  crime. 

But  there  is  a  better  reason  why  you  should  endea- 
vour to  understand  the  value  of  Latin  in  our  Hterature ;  a 
fihal  reason.  Our  fathers  built  their  great  English 
prose,  as  they  built  their  oratory,  upon  the  Latin  model. 
Donne  used  it  to  construct  his  mighty  fugues.  Burke 
to  discipline  his  luxuriance.     Says  Cowper,  "It  were 

*  Praise  enough '  for  any  private  man. 

That  Chatham's  language  was  his  mother  tongue, 

And  Wolfe's  great  name  compatriot  with  his  own." 

Well  then,  here  is  a  specimen  of  Chatham's  language: 
from  his  speech,  Romanly  severe,  denouncing  the 
Government  of  the  day  for  employing  Red  Indians  in 
the  American  War  of  Independence.  He  is  addressing 
the  House  of  Lords : 

I  call  upon  that  right  reverend  bench,  those  holy  ministers 
of  the  Gospel,  and  pious  pastors  of  our  Church — I  conjure 
them  to  join  in  the  holy  work,  and  vindicate  the  religion  of 
their  God.  I  appeal  to  the  wisdom  and  the  law  of  this 
learned  bench  to  defend  and  support  the  justice  of  their 
country.  I  call  upon  the  bishops  to  interpose  the  unsullied 
sanctity  of  their  lawn ;  upon  the  learned  judges  to  interpose 
the  purity  of  their  ermine,  to  save  us  from  this  pollution.  I 
call  upon  the  honour  of  your  lordships  to  reverence  the 
dignity  of  your  ancestors,  and  to  maintain  your  own.  I 
call  upon  the  spirit  and  humanity  of  my  country  to  vindi- 
cate the  national  character.     I  invoke  the  genius  of  the 


130  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Constitution.  From  the  tapestry  that  adorns  these  walls 
the  immortal  ancestor  of  this  noble  lord  [Lord  Suffolk] 
frowns  with  indignation  at  the  disgrace  of  his  country.  In 
vain  he  led  your  victorious  fleets  against  the  boasted  Ar- 
mada of  Spain;  in  vain  he  defended  and  established  the 
honour,  the  liberties,  the  religion — the  Protestant  religion — 
of  this  country,  against  the  arbitrary  cruelties  of  Popery 
and  the  Inquisition,  if  these  more  than  Popish  cruelties  and 
inquisitorial  practices  are  let  loose  among  us — to  turn  forth 
into  our  settlements,  among  our  ancient  connexions,  friends, 
and  relations,  the  merciless  cannibal,  thirsting  for  the  blood 
of  man,  woman,  and  child!  to  send  forth  the  infidel  savage — 
against  whom?  against  your  Protestant  brethren;  to  lay 
waste  their  country,  to  desolate  their  dwellings,  and  ex- 
tirpate their  race  and  name,  with  these  horrible  hell-hounds 
of  savage  war! — hell-hounds,  I  say,  of  savage  war!  Spain 
armed  herself  with  blood-hounds  to  extirpate  the  wretched 
natives  of  America,  and  we  improve  on  the  inhinnan  ex- 
ample even  of  Spanish  cruelty;  we  turn  loose  these  savage 
hell-hounds  against  our  brethren  and  countrymen  in  Amer- 
ica, of  the  same  language,  laws,  liberties,  and  religion,  en- 
deared to  us  by  every  tie  that  should  sanctify  humanity  .  .  . 
My  lords,  I  am  old  and  weak,  and  at  present  unable  to 
say  more;  but  my  feelings  and  indignation  were  too  strong 
to  have  said  less.  I  could  not  have  slept  this  night  in  my 
bed,  nor  reposed  my  head  on  my  pillow,  without  giving  this 
vent  to  my  eternal  abhorrence  of  such  preposterous  and 
enormous  principles. 

That  was  Chatham.  For  Wolfe — he,  as  you  know,  was 
ever  reading  the  classics  even  on  campaign:  as  Burke 
again  carried  always  a  Virgil  in  his  pocket.  Abeunt 
studia  in  mores.  Moreover  can  we  separate  Chatham's 
Roman  morality  from  Chatham's  language  in  the  pas- 
sage I  have  just  read?  No:  we  cannot.  No  one,  being 
evil  can  speak  good  things,  with  that  weight ;  '  'for  out 


The  Value  of  Greek  and  Latin     131 

of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh."    We 
English  (says  Wordsworth) 

We  must  be  free  or  die,  who  speak  the  tongue 
That  Shakespeare  spake.  .  .  . 

You  may  criticise  Chatham's  style  as  too  consciously 
Ciceronian,  But  has  ever  a  ParHamentary  style  been 
invented  which  conveys  a  nobler  gravity  of  emotion? 
"Buskined?" — yes:  but  the  style  of  a  man.  "Man- 
nered ? ' ' — ^yes,  but  in  the  grand  manner.  ' '  Conscious  ? ' ' 
— ^yes,  but  of  what?  Conscious  of  the  dignity  a  great 
man  owes  to  himself,  and  to  the  assembly  he  addresses. 
He  conceives  that  assembly  as  "the  British  Senate"; 
and,  assuming,  he  communicates  that  high  conception. 
The  Lords  feel  that  they  are  listening  as  Senators,  since 
it  is  only  thus  a  Senate  should  be  addressed,  as  nothing 
less  than  a  Senate  should  be  addressed  thus. 

Let  me  read  you  a  second  passage ;  of  written  prose : 

Laodameia  died ;  Helen  died ;  Leda,  the  beloved  the  Jupi- 
ter went  before.  It  is  better  to  repose  in  the  earth  betimes 
than  to  sit  up  late;  better,  than  to  cling  pertinaciously  to 
what  we  feel  crumbling  under  us,  and  to  protract  an  inevit- 
able fall.  We  may  enjoy  the  present  while  we  are  insensible 
of  infirmity  and  decay :  but  the  present,  like  a  note  in  music, 
is  nothing  but  as  it  appertains  to  what  is  past  and  what  is 
to  come.  There  are  no  fields  of  amaranth  on  this  side  of  the 
grave;  there  are  no  voices,  O  Rhodop^!  that  are  not  soon 
mute,  however  tuneful;  there  is  no  name,  with  whatever 
emphasis  of  passionate  love  repeated,  of  which  the  echo  is 
not  faint  at  last.  ^ 

'  Landor:  Msop  and  Rhodoph. 


132  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Latin — all  Latin — down  to  its  exquisite  falling  close ! 
And  I  say  to  you,  Gentlemen,  that  passages  such  as 
these  deserve  what  Joubert  claimed  of  national  monu- 
ments, Ce  sont  les  crampons  qui  unissent  une  generation  d 
une  autre.  Conservez  ce  qu'ont  vu  vos  phes,  "These  are 
the  clamps  that  knit  one  generation  to  another.  Cherish 
those  things  on  which  your  fathers'  eyes  have  looked." 

Abeunt  studia  in  mores. 

If,  years  ago,  there  had  lacked  anything  to  sharpen 
my  suspicion  of  those  fork-bearded  professors  who  de- 
rived our  prose  from  the  stucco  of  Anglo-Saxon  prose,  it 
would  have  been  their  foolish  deliberate  practice  of 
composing  whole  pages  of  English  prose  without  using 
one  word  derivative  from  Latin  or  Greek.  Esau,  when 
he  sold  his  birthright,  had  the  excuse  of  being  famished. 
These  pedants,  with  a  full  board,  sought  frenetically  to 
give  it  away — board  and  birthright.  "So  when  this 
corruptible  shall  have  put  on  incorruption,  and  this  mortal 
shall  have  put,  on  immortality" — almost,  I  say,  these 
men  had  deserved  to  have  a  kind  of  speech  more  to 
their  taste  read  over  their  coffins. 

VII 

What,  in  the  next  place,  can  I  say  of  Greek,  save 
that,  as  Latin  gave  our  fathers  the  model  of  prose, 
Greek  was  the  source  of  it  all,  the  goddess  and  genius 
of  the  well-head?  And,  casting  about  to  illustrate,  as 
well  as  may  be,  what  I  mean  by  this,  I  hit  on  a  minor 
dialogue  of  Plato,  the  Phaedrus,  and  choose  you  a  short 
passage  in  Edward  FitzGerald's  rendering : 


The  Value  of  Greek  and  Latin     133 

When  Socrates  and  Phasdnis  have  discourses  away  the 
noon-day  under  the  plane  trees  by  the  Ilyssus,  they  rise  to 
depart  toward  the  city.  But  Socrates  (pointing  perhaps  to 
some  images  of  Pan  and  other  sylvan  deities)  says  it  is  not 
decent  to  leave  their  haunts  without  praying  to  them,  and 
he  prays : 

"O  auspicious  Pan,  and  ye  other  deities  of  this  place, 
grant  to  me  to  become  beautiful  inwardly,  and  that  all  my 
outward  goods  may  prosper  my  inner  soul.  Grant  that  I 
may  esteem  wisdom  the  only  riches,  and  that  I  may  have  so 
much  gold  as  temperance  can  handsomely  carry. 

"Have  we  yet  aught  else  to  pray  for,  Phaedrus?  For 
myself  I  seem  to  have  prayed  enough." 

Phaedrus:  "Pray  as  much  for  me  also:  for  friends  have 
all  in  common." 

Socrates:  "Even  so  be  it.    Let  us  depart." 

To  this  paternoster  of  Socrates,  reported  more  than 
four  centuTKS  before  Christ  taught  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
let  me  add  an  attempted  translation  of  the  lines  that 
close  Homer's  hymn  to  the  Delian  Apollo.  Imagine  the 
old  blind  poet  on  the  beach  chanting  to  the  islanders 
the  glorious  boast  of  the  little  island — how  it  of  all 
lands  had  harboured  Leto  in  her  difficult  travail;  how 
she  gave  birth  to  the  Sun  God ;  how  the  immortal  child, 
as  the  attendant  goddesses  touched  his  lips  with  am- 
brosia, burst  his  swaddling  bands  and  stood  up,  sudden, 
a  god  erect : 

But  he,  the  Sun-God,  did  no  sooner  taste 
That  food  divine  than  every  swaddling  band 
Burst  strand  by  strand. 
And  burst  the  belt  above  his  panting  waist — 
All  hanging  loose 
About  him  as  he  stood  and  gave  command : 


134  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

"Fetch  me  my  lyre,  fetch  me  my  curving  bow! 
And,  taught  by  these,  shall  know 
All  men,  through  me,  the  unfaltering  will  of  Zeus!" 
So  spake  the  unshorn  God,  the  Archer  bold, 

And  tum'd  to  tread  the  ways  of  Earth  so  wide; 
While  they,  all  they,  had  marvel  to  behold 

How  Delos  broke  in  gold 
Beneath  his  feet,  as  on  a  mountain-side 
Sudden,  in  Spring,  a  tree  is  glorified 

And  canopied  with  blossoms  manifold. 
But  he  went  swinging  with  a  careless  stride, 

Proud,  in  his  new  artillery  bedight, 
Up  rocky  Cynthus,  and  the  isles  descried — 
All  his,  and  their  inhabitants — for  wide, 
Wide  as  he  roam'd,  ran  these  in  rivalry 
To  build  him  temples  in  many  groves : 
And  these  be  his,  and  all  the  isles  he  loves. 

And  every  foreland  height, 
And  every  river  hurrying  to  the  sea. 

But  chief  in  thee, 
Delos,  as  first  it  was,  is  his  delight. 
Where  the  long-robed  lonians,  each  with  mate 
And  children,  pious  to  his  altar  throng. 
And,  decent,  celebrate 
His  birth  with  boxing-match  and  dance  and  song: 
So  that  a  stranger,  happening  them  among, 
Would  deem  that  these  lonians  have  no  date. 
Being  ageless,  all  so  met; 
And  he  should  gaze 
And  marvel  at  their  ways. 
Health,  wealth,  the  comely  face 
On  man  and  woman — envying  their  estate — 

And  yet 
You  can  be  ne'er  able  to  forget, 
You  maids  of  Delos,  dear  ones,  as  ye  raise 
The  hymn  to  Phoebus,  Leto,  Artemis, 
In  triune  praise, 


The  Value  of  Greek  and  Latin     135 

Then  slide  your  song  back  upon  ancient  days 

And  men  whose  very  name  forgotten  is, 

And  women  who  have  hved  and  gone  their  ways: 

And  make  them  Hve  agen, 

Charming  the  tribes  of  men, 
Whose  speech  ye  mock  with  pretty  mimicries 
So  true 
They  almost  woo 

The  hearer  to  believe  he's  singing  too ! 
Speed  me,  Apollo:  speed  me,  Artemis! 

And  3'ou,  my  dears,  farewell!    Remember  me 
Hereafter  if,  from  any  land  that  is. 

Some  traveller  question  ye — 
"  Maidens,  who  was  the  sweetest  man  of  speech 
Fared  hither,  ever  chanted  on  this  beach?" 

I  you  beseech 
Make  answer  to  him,  civilly — 
"Sir,  he  was  just  a  blind  man,  and  his  home 

In  rocky  Chios.    But  his  songs  were  best, 
And  shall  be  ever  in  the  days  to  come." 

Say  that :  and  as  I  quest 
In  fair  wall'd  cities  far,  I'll  tell  them  there 
(They'll  list,  for  'twill  be  true) 
Of  Delos  and  of  you. 
But  chief  and  evermore  my  song  shall  be 
Of  Prince  Apollo,  lord  of  Archery. 
God  of  the  Silver  Bow,  whom  Leto  bare — 

Leto,  the  lovely-tress'd. 

Did  time  permit,  I  might  quote  you  a  chorus  of 
Aeschylus,  a  passage  from  Thucydides  or  from  Aristotle, 
to  illustrate  Gibbon's  saying  that  the  Greek  language 
"gave  a  soul  to  the  objects  of  sense,  and  a  body  to  the 
abstractions  of  metaphysics."  But  there  it  is,  and  it 
has  haunted  our  literature;  at  first  filtering  through 
Latin,  at  length  breaking  from  Constantinople  in  flood 


136  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

and  led  to  us,  to  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  by  Erasmus, 
by  Grocyn: 

Thee,  that  lord  of  splendid  lore 
Orient  from  old  Hellas'  shore. 

To  have  a  sense  of  Greek,  too,  is  such  a  corrective  of 
taste.  I  quote  another  old  schoolmaster  here — a  dead 
friend,  Sidney  Irwin: 

What  the  Greeks  disliked  was  extravagance,  caprice, 
boastfulness,  and  display  of  all  kinds.  .  .  .  The  Greeks 
hated  all  monsters.  The  quaint  phrase  in  the  Odyssey  about 
the  Queen  of  the  Laestrygones — "  She  was  tall  as  a  mountain, 
and  they  hated  her" — would  have  seemed  to  them  most 
reasonable.  .  .  . 

;■  To  read  Greek  is  to  have  a  perpetual  witness  to  the  virtue 
of  pruning — of  condensing — a  perpetual  protest  against  all 
that  crowds,  and  swells,  and  weakens  the  writer's  purpose. 
To  forget  this  is  but  to  "confound  our  skill  in  covetousness. " 
We  cannot  all  be  writers  .  .  .  but  we  all  wish  to  have  good 
taste,  and  good  taste  is  born  of  a  generous  caution  about 
letting  oneself  go.  I  say  generous,  for  caution  is  seldom 
generous — but  it  is  a  generous  mood  which  is  in  no  haste  to 
assert  itself.  To  consider  the  thing,  the  time,  the  place,  the 
person,  and  to  take  yourself  and  your  own  feelings  only  fifth 
is  to  be  armour-proof  against  bad  taste. 

VIII 

They  tell  us  that  Greek  is  going,  here.  Well,  I  hold 
no  brief  for  compulsory  Greek ;  and  I  shall  say  but  one 
word  on  it.  I  put  it,  rather  idly,  to  a  vote  in  a  Cam- 
bridge Combination  Room,  the  other  day,  and  was 
amazed  to  find  how  the  votes  were  divided.  The  men 
of  science  were  by  no  means  unanimous.    They  owned 


The  Value  of  Greek  and  Latin     137 

that  there  was  much  to  be  said  even  for  compulsory 
Greek,  if  only  Greek  had  been  intelligently  taught. 
And  with  that,  of  course,  I  agree :  for  to  learn  Greek  is, 
after  all,  a  baptism  into  a  noble  cult.  The  Romans 
knew  that.  I  believe  that,  even  yet,  if  the  schools 
would  rebuild  their  instruction  in  Greek  so  as  to  make 
it  interesting,  as  it  ought  to  be,  from  the  first,  we  should 
oust  those  birds  who  croak  and  chatter  upon  the  walls 
of  our  old  universities.  I  find  the  following  in  Fitz- 
Gerald's  Polonius: 

An  old  ruinous  church  which  had  harboured  innumerable 
jackdaws,  sparrows,  and  bats,  was  at  length  repaired. 
When  the  masons  left  it,  the  jackdaws,  sparrows,  and  bats 
came  back  in  search  of  their  old  dwellings.  But  these  were 
all  filled  up.  "Of  what  use  now  is  this  great  building?" 
said  they,  "come  let  us  forsake  this  useless  stone- heap." 

And  the  beauty  of  this  little  apologue  is  that  you  can 
read  it  either  way. 

IX 

But,  although  a  student  of  English  Literature  be 
ignorant  of  Greek  and  Latin  as  languages,  may  he  not 
have  Greek  and  Latin  literature  widely  opened  to  him 
by  intelligent  translations?  The  question  has  often 
been  asked  but  I  ask  it  again.  May  not  some  transla- 
tions open  a  door  to  him  by  which  he  can  see  them 
through  an  atmosphere,  and  in  that  atmosphere  the 
authentic  ancient  gods  walking :  so  that  returning  upon 
EngHsh  literature  he  may  recognise  them  there,  too, 
walking  and  talking  in  a  garden  of  values  ?    The  highest 


138  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

poetical  speech  of  any  one  language  defies,  in  my  belief, 
translation  into  any  other.  But  Herodotus  loses  little, 
and  North  is  every  whit  as  good  as  Plutarch. 

Sigh  no  more,  ladies;  ladies,  sigh  no  more! 

Men  were  deceivers  ever; 
One  foot  in  sea  and  one  on  shore. 

To  one  thing  constant  never 

Suppose  that  rendered  thus : 

I  enjoin  upon  the  adult  female  population  (vuva'tKsc;),  not 
once  but  twice,  that  there  be  from  this  time  forward,  a  total 
cessation  of  sighing.  The  male  is,  and  has  been,  constantly 
addicted  to  inconstancy,  treading  the  ocean  and  the  main- 
land respectively  with  alternate  feet. 

That,  more  or  less,  is  what  Paley  did  upon  Euripides, 
and  how  would  you  like  it  if  a  modern  Greek  did  it 
upon  Shakespeare  ?  None  the  less  I  remember  that  my 
own  first  awed  surmise  of  what  Greek  might  mean  came 
from  a  translated  story  of  Herodotus — the  story  of 
Cleobis  and  Biton — at  the  tail  of  an  old  grammar-book, 
before  I  had  learnt  the  Greek  alphabet;  and  I  am  sure 
that  the  instinct  of  the  old  translators  was  sound ;  that 
somehow  (as  Wordsworth  says  somewhere)  the  present 
must  be  balanced  on  the  wings  of  the  past  and  the 
future,  and  that  as  you  stretch  out  the  one  you  stretch 
out  the  other  to  strength. 

X 

There  is  no  derogation  of  new  things  in  this  plea 
I  make  specially  to  you  who  may  be  candidates  in  our 


The  Value  of  Greek  and  Latin     139 

School  of  English.  You  may  remember  my  reading  to 
you  in  a  previous  lecture  that  liberal  poem  of  Cory's 
invoking  the  spirit  of  "dear  divine  Comatas,"  that 

Two  minds  shall  flow  together,  the  English  and  the  Greek. 

Well,  I  would  have  your  minds,  as  you  read  out  litera- 
ture, reach  back  to  that  Dorian  shepherd  through  an 
atmosphere — his  made  ours — as  through  veils,  each  veil 
unfolding  a  value.  So  you  will  recognise  how,  from 
Chaucer  down,  our  literature  has  panted  after  the  Medi- 
terranean water-brooks.  So  through  an  atmosphere 
you  will  link  (let  me  say)  Collin's  Ode  to  Evening,  or 
Matthew  Arnold's  Strayed  Reveller  up  to  the  Pervi- 
gilium Veneris,  Mr.  Sturge  Moore's  Sicilian  Vine- 
dresser up  to  Theocritus,  Pericles*  funeral  oration  down 
to  Lincoln's  over  the  dead  at  Gettysburg.  And  as  I 
read  you  just  now  some  part  of  an  English  oration  in 
the  Latin  manner,  so  I  will  conclude  with  some  stanzas 
in  the  Greek  manner.  They  are  by  Landor — a  proud 
promise  by  a  young  writer,  hopeful  as  I  could  wish  any 
young  learner  here  to  be.    The  title — 

Corinna,  from  Athens,  to  Tanagra 

Tanagra !  think  not  I  forget 

Thy  beautifully  storied  streets; 
Be  sure  my  memory  bathes  yet 

In  clear  Thermodon,  and  yet  greets 
The  blithe  and  liberal  shepherd-boy. 
Whose  sunny  bosom  swells  v.'ith  joy 
When  we  accept  his  matted  rushes 
Upheav'd  with  sylvan  fruit:  away  he  bounds,  and  blushes. 


140  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

A  gift  I  promise :  one  I  see 

Which  thou  with  transport  wilt  receive, 
The  only  proper  gift  for  thee, 

Of  which  no  mortal  shall  bereave 
In  later  times  thy  mouldering  walls, 
Until  the  last  old  turret  falls; 
A  crown,  a  crown  from  Athens  won, 
A  crown  no  god  can  wear,  beside  Latona's  son. 

There  may  be  cities  who  refuse 

To  their  own  child  the  honours  due, 

And  look  ungently  on  the  Muse; 
But  ever  shall  those  cities  rue 

The  dry,  unyielding,  niggard  breast, 

Offering  no  nourishment,  no  rest. 

To  that  young  head  which  soon  shall  rise 
Disdainfully,  in  might  and  glory,  to  the  skies. 

Sweetly  where  cavern 'd  Dirce  flows 

Do  white-arm'd  maidens  chaunt  my  lay. 
Flapping  the  while  with  laurel-rose 
The  honey-gathering  tribes  away; 
And  sweetly,  sweetly  Attic  tongues 
Lisp  your  Corinna's  early  songs; 
To  her  with  feet  more  graceful  come 
The  verses  that  have  dwelt  in  kindred  breasts  at  home. 

O  let  thy  children  lean  aslant 

Against  the  tender  mother's  knee, 
And  gaze  into  her  face,  and  want 

To  know  what  magic  there  can  be 
In  words  that  urge  some  eyes  to  dance, 
While  others  as  in  holy  trance 
Look  up  to  heaven :  be  such  my  praise ! 
Why  linger?    I  must  haste,  or  lose  the  Delphic  bays. 


ON  READING  THE  BIBLE  (I) 
I 

**  T^EAD  not  to  Contradict  and  Confute, "  says  Bacon  of 
^  Studies  in  general:  and  you  may  be  the  better 
disposed,  Gentlemen,  to  forgive  my  choice  of  subject 
to-day  if  in  my  first  sentence  I  rule  that  way  of  reading 
the  Bible  completely  out  of  court.  You  may  say  at 
once  that,  the  Bible  being  so  full  of  doctrine  as  it  is,  and 
such  a  storehouse  for  exegesis  as  it  has  been,  this  is 
more  easily  said  than  profitably  done.  You  may  grant 
me  that,  the  Scriptures  in  our  Authorised  Version  are 
part  and  parcel  of  English  Literature  (and  more  than 
part  and  parcel) ;  you  may  grant  that  a  Professor  of 
English  Literature  has  therefore  a  claim,  if  not  an  obli- 
gation, to  speak  of  them  in  that  Version;  you  may — 
having  granted  my  incessant  refusal  to  disconnect  our 
national  literature  from  our  national  life,  or  to  view 
them  as  disconnected — accept  the  conclusion  which 
plainly  flows  from  it;  that  no  teacher  of  English  can 
pardonably  neglect  what  is  at  once  the  most  majestic 
thing  in  our  literature  and  by  all  odds  the  most  spirit- 
ually living  thing  we  inherit ;  in  our  courts  at  once  superb 
monument  and  superabundant  fountain  of  life ;  and  yet 

you  may  discount  beforehand  what  he  must  attempt. 

141 


142  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

For  (say  you)  if  he  attempt  the  doctrine,  he  goes 
straight  down  to  buffeted  waters  so  broad  that  only 
stout  theologians  can  win  to  shore ;  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  ignore  doctrine,  the  play  is  Hamlet  with  the  Prince 
of  Denmark  left  out.  He  reduces  our  Bible  to  "mere 
literature,"  to  something  "belletristic, "  pretty,  an 
artifice,  a  flimsy,  a  gutted  thing. 

II 

Now  of  all  ways  of  dealing  with  literature  that 
happens  to  be  the  way  we  should  least  admire.  By  that 
way  we  disassociate  literature  from  life;  "what  they 
said  "  from  the  men  who  said  it  and  meant  it,  not  seldom 
at  the  risk  of  their  lives.  My  pupils  will  bear  witness  in 
the  memories  that  when  we  talk  together  concerning 
poetry,  for  example,  by  "poetry"  we  mean  "that  which 
the  poets  wrote,"  or  (if  you  like)  "the  stuff  the  poets 
wrote";  and  their  intelligence  tells  them,  of  course, 
that  any  one  who  in  the  simple  proposition  "Poets 
wrote  Poetry"  connects  an  object  with  a  subject  by  a 
verb  does  not,  at  any  rate,  intend  to  sunder  what  he 
has  just  been  at  pains,  however  slight,  to  join  together: 
he  may  at  least  have  the  credit,  whether  he  be  right  or 
wrong,  of  asserting  his  subject  and  his  object  to  be 
interdependent.  Take  a  particular  proposition — ^John 
Milton  wrote  a  poem  called  Paradise  Lost.  You  will 
hardly  contest  the  truth  of  that :  but  what  does  it  mean  ? 
Milton  wrote  the  story  of  the  Fall  of  Man :  he  told  it  in 
some  thousands  of  lines  of  decasyllabic  verse  unrhymed ; 
he  measured  these  lines  out  with  exquisite  cadences. 


On  Reading  the  Bible  i43 

The  object  of  our  simple  sentence  includes  all  these, 
and  this  much  beside:  that  he  wrote  the  total  poem 
and  made  it  what  it  is.  Nor  can  that  object  be  fully 
understood — literature  being,  ever  and  always,  so 
personal  a  thing — until  we  understand  the  subject, 
John  Milton — what  manner  of  man  he  was,  and  how  on 
earth,  being  such  a  man,  he  contrived  to  do  it.  We 
shall  never  quite  know  that:  but  it  is  important  we 
should  get  as  near  as  we  can. 

Of  the  Bible  this  is  yet  more  evident,  it  being  a  trans- 
lation. Isaiah  did  not  write  the  cadences  of  his  pro- 
phecies, as  we  ordinary  men  of  this  country  know  them : 
Christ  did  not  speak  the  cadences  of  the  Parables  or  of 
the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  as  we  know  them.  These 
have  been  supplied  by  the  translators.  By  all  means 
let  us  study  them  and  learn  to  delight  in  them;  but 
Christ  did  not  suffer  for  his  cadences,  still  less  for  the 
cadences  invented  by  Englishmen  almost  sixteen  hun- 
dred years  later ;  and  Englishmen  who  went  to  the  stake 
did  not  die  for  these  cadences.  They  were  Lollards  and 
Reformers  who  Hved  too  soon  to  have  heard  them ;  they 
were  Catholics  of  the  "old  profession"  who  had  either 
never  heard  or,  having  heard,  abhorred  them.  These 
men  were  cheerful  to  die  for  the  meaning  of  the  Word 
and  for  its  authorship — because  it  was  spoken  by  Christ. 

Ill 

There  is  in  fact.  Gentlemen,  no  such  thing  as  "mere 
literature."  Pedants  have  coined  that  contemptuous 
term  to  express  a  figmentary  concept  of  their  own 


144  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

imagination  or — to  be  more  accurate,  an  hallucination 
of  wrath — having  about  as  much  likeness  to  a  vera 
causa  as  had  the  doll  which  (if  you  remember)  Maggie 
TuUiver  used  to  beat  in  the  garret  whenever,  poor  child, 
the  world  went  wrong  with  her  somehow.  The  thoughts, 
actions,  and  passions  of  men  became  literature  by  the 
simple  but  difficult  process  of  being  recorded  in  memor- 
able speech;  but  in  that  process  neither  the  real  thing 
recorded  nor  the  author  is  evacuated.  Belles  lettres, 
Fine  Art  are  odious  terms,  for  which  no  clean-thinking 
man  has  any  use.  There  is  no  such  thing  in  the  world  as 
belles  lettres;  if  there  were,  it  would  deserve  the  name. 
As  for  Fine  Art,  the  late  Professor  Butcher  bequeathed 
to  us  a  translation  of  Aristotle's  Poetics  with  some  ad- 
mirable appendixes — the  whole  entitled  Aristotle's 
Theory  of  Poetry  and  Fine  Art.  Aristotle  never  in  his 
life  had  a  theory  of  Fine  Art  as  distinct  from  other  art : 
nor  (I  wager)  can  you  find  in  his  discovered  works  a 
word  for  any  such  thing.  Now  if  Aristotle  had  a  con- 
cept of  "fine"  art  as  distinguished  from  other  art,  he 
was  man  enough  to  find  a  name  for  it.  His  omission 
to  do  anything  of  the  sort  speaks  for  itself. 

So  you  should  beware  of  any  teacher  who  would  treat 
the  Bible  or  any  part  of  it  as  "fine  writing,"  mere 
literature. 

IV 

Let  me,  having  said  this,  at  once  enter  a  caveat,  a 
qualification.  Although  men  do  not  go  to  the  stake  for 
the  cadences,  the  phrases  of  our  Authorised  Version,  it 


On  Reading  the  Bible  145 

remains  true  that  these  cadences,  these  phrases,  have 
for  three  hundred  years  exercised  a  most  powerful  effect 
upon  their  emotions.  They  do  so  by  association  of 
ideas  by  the  accreted  memories  of  our  race  enwrapping 
connotation  around  a  word,  a  name — say  the  name 
Jerusalem,  or  the  name  Sion: 

And  they  that  wasted  us,  required  of  us  mirth,  saying, — 

Sing  to  us  one  of  the  songs  of  Sion. 

How  shall  we  sing  the  Lord's  song,  in  a  strange  land  ?  If  I 
forget  thee,  O  Jerusalem,  let  my  right  hand  forget  her 
cunning ! 

It  must  be  known  to  you.  Gentlemen,  that  these 
words  can  affect  men  to  tears  who  never  connect  them 
in  thought  with  the  actual  geographical  Jerusalem ;  who 
connect  it  in  thought  merely  with  a  quite  different  na- 
tive home  from  which  they  are  exiles.  Here  and  there 
some  one  man  may  feel  a  similar  emotion  over  Landor's 

Tanagra,  think  not  I  forget  .  .  . 

But  the  word  Jerusalem  will  strike  twenty  men  twenty- 
fold  more  poignantly:  for  to  each  it  names  the  city 
familiar  in  spirit  to  his  parents  when  they  knelt,  and 
to  their  fathers  before  them:  not  only  the  city  which 
was  his  nursery  and  yet  lay  just  beyond  the  landscape 
seen  from  its  window;  its  connotation  includes  not  only 
what  the  word  "Rome"  has  meant,  and  ever  must 
mean,  to  thousands  on  thousands  setting  eyes  for  the 
first  time  on  The  City:  but  it  holds,  too,  some  hint  of 
the  New  Jerusalem,  the  city  of  twelve  gates  before  the 
vision  of  which  St.  John  fell  prone: 


146  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Ah,  my  sweet  home,  Hierusalem, 

Would  God  I  were  in  thee 
Thy  Gardens  and  thy  gallant  walks 

Continually  are  green : 
There  grows  such  sweet  and  pleasant  flowers 

As  nowhere  else  are  seen. 
Quite  through  the  streets  with  pleasant  sound 

The  flood  of  Life  doth  flow; 
Upon  whose  banks  on  every  side 

The  wood  of  Life  doth  grow  .  .  . 

Our  Lady  sings  Magnificat 

With  tones  surpassing  sweet : 
And  all  the  virgins  bear  their  part, 

Sitting  about  her  feet. 
Hierusalem,  my  happy  home, 

Would  God  I  were  in  thee ! 
Would  God  my  woes  were  at  an  end. 

Thy  joys  that  I  might  see! 

You  cannot  (I  say)  get  away  from  these  connotations 
accreted  through  your  own  memories  and  your  fathers' ; 
as  neither  can  you  be  sure  of  getting  free  of  any  great 
literature  in  any  tongue,  once  it  has  been  written.  Let 
me  quote  you  a  passage  from  Cardinal  Newman  [he  is 
addressing  the  undergraduates  of  the  Catholic  Uni- 
versity of  Dublin] : 

How  real  a  creation,  how  sui  generis,  is  the  style  of  Shake- 
speare, or  of  the  Protestant  Bible  and  Prayer  Book  or  of 
Swift,  or  of  Pope,  or  of  Gibbon,  or  of  Johnson! 

[I  pause  to  mark  how  just  this  man  can  be  to  his  great 
enemies.  Pope  was  a  Roman  Catholic,  you  will  re- 
member; Gibbon  an  infidel.] 


On  Reading  the  Bible  i47 

Even  were  the  subject-matter  without  meaning,  though  in 
truth  the  style  cannot  really  be  abstracted  from  the  sense, 
still  the  style  would,  on  that  supposition,  remain  as  perfect 
and  original  a  work  as  Euclid's  Elements  or  a  symphony  of 
Beethoven. 

And,  like  music,  it  has  seized  upon  the  public  mind:  and 
the  literature  of  England  is  no  longer  a  mere  letter,  printed 
in  books  and  shut  up  in  libraries,  but  it  is  a  living  voice, 
which  has  gone  forth  in  its  expressions  and  its  sentiments 
into  the  world  of  men,  which  daily  thrills  upon  our  ears 
and  syllables  our  thoughts,  which  speaks  to  us  through  our 
correspondents  and  dictates  when  we  put  pen  to  paper. 
Whether  we  will  or  no,  the  phraseology  of  Shakespeare,  of 
the  Protestant  formularies,  of  Milton,  of  Pope,  of  Johnson's 
Table-talk,  and  of  Walter  Scott,  have  become  a  portion  of 
the  vernacular  tongue,  the  household  words,  of  which 
perhaps  we  little  guess  the  origin,  and  the  very  idioms  of 
oiu"  familiar  conversation.  ...  So  tyrannous  is  the  litera- 
ture of  a  nation;  it  is  too  much  for  us.  We  cannot  destroy 
or  reverse  it.  .  .  .  We  cannot  make  it  over  again.  It  is  a 
great  work  of  man,  when  it  is  no  work  of  God's.  .  .  .  We 
cannot  undo  the  past.  English  Literature  will  ever  have 
been  Protestant. 


V 


I  am  speaking,  then,  to  hearers  who  would  read  not 
to  contradict  and  confute ;  who  have  an  inherited  sense 
of  the  English  Bible;  and  who  have,  even  as  I,  a  store 
of  associated  ideas,  to  be  evoked  by  any  chance  phrase 
from  it;  beyond  this,  nothing  that  can  be  called  scholar- 
ship by  any  stretch  of  the  term. 

Very  well,  then:  my  first  piece  of  advice  on  reading 
the  Bible  is  that  you  do  it. 

I  have,  of  course,  no  reason  at  all  to  suppose  or 


148  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

suggest  that  any  member  of  this  present  audience  omits 
to  do  it.  But  some  general  observations  are  permitted 
to  an  occupant  of  this  Chair:  and,  speaking  generally, 
and  as  one  not  constitutionally  disposed  to  lamentation 
[in  the  book  we  are  discussing,  for  example,  I  find 
Jeremiah  the  contributor  least  to  my  mind],  I  do  believe 
that  the  young  read  the  Bible  less,  and  enjoy  it  less — 
probably  read  it  less,  because  they  enjoy  it  less — than 
their  fathers  did. 

The  Education  Act  of  1870,  often  in  these  days 
too  sweepingly  denounced,  did  a  vast  deal  of  good 
along  with  no  small  amount  of  definite  harm.  At  the 
head  of  the  harmful  effects  must  (I  think)  be  set  its 
discouragement  of  Bible  reading;  and  this  chiefly 
through  its  encouraging  parents  to  believe  that  they 
could  henceforth  hand  over  the  training  of  their  child- 
ren to  the  State,  lock,  stock,  and  barrel.  You  all 
remember  the  picture  in  Burns  of  The  Cotter  s  Saturday 
Night: 

The  chearfu'  supper  done,  wi'  serious  face, 

They,  round  the  ingle,  form  a  circle  wide; 
The  sire  turns  o'er,  wi'  patriarchal  grace, 
The  big  ha'-Bible,  ance  his  father's  pride. 
His  bonnet  rev'rently  is  laid  aside. 
His  lyart  haffets  wearing  thin  and  bare; 

Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 
He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care, 
And  "Let  us  worship  God!"  he  says,  with  solemn  air. 

But  you  know  that  the  sire  bred  on  the  tradition  of 
1870  and  now  growing  grey,  does  nothing  of  that  sort 


On  Reading  the  Bible  149 

on  a  Saturday  night :  that,  Saturday  being  tub-night,  he 
inclines  rather  to  order  them  into  the  back-kitchen  to 
get  washed ;  that  on  Sunday  morning,  having  seen  them 
off  to  a  place  of  worship,  he  inclines  to  sit  down  and 
read,  in  place  of  the  Bible,  his  Sunday  newspaper :  that 
in  the  afternoon  he  again  shunts  them  off  to  Sunday- 
school.  Now — to  speak  first  of  the  children — it  is  good 
for  them  to  be  tubbed  on  Saturday  night ;  good  for  them 
also,  I  dare  say,  to  attend  Sunday-school  on  the  follow- 
ing afternoon;  but  not  good  in  so  far  as  they  miss  to 
hear  the  Bible  read  by  their  parents  and 

Pure  religion  breathing  household  laws. 

"Pure  religion " ? — Well  perhaps  that  begs  the  question : 
and  I  dare  say  Burn's  cotter  when  he  waled  "a  portion 
with  judicious  care,"  waled  it  as  often  as  not — perhaps 
of tener  than  not — to  contradict  and  confute ;  that  often 
he  contradicted  and  confuted  very  crudely,  very  ignor- 
antly.  But  we  may  call  it  simple  religion  anyhow, 
sincere  religion,  parental  reUgion,  household  religion: 
and  for  a  certainty  no  "lessons"  in  day-school  or  Sun- 
day-school have,  for  tingeing  a  child's  mind,  an  effect 
comparable  with  that  of  a  religion  pervading  the  child's 
home,  present  at  bedside  and  board : 

Here  a  little  child  I  stand, 
Heaving  up  my  either  hand ; 
Cold  as  paddocks  tho'  they  be, 
Here  I  lift  them  up  to  Thee; 
For  a  benison  to  fall 
On  our  meat  and  on  us  all.     Amen. 


150  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

— permeating  the  house,  subtly  instilled  by  the  very 
accent  of  his  father's  and  his  mother's  speech.  For  the 
grown  man  ...  I  happen  to  come  from  a  part  of  Eng- 
land where  men,  in  all  my  days,  have  been  curiously 
concerned  with  religion  and  are  yet  so  concerned;  so 
much  that  you  can  scarce  take  up  a  local  paper  and  turn 
to  the  correspondence  column  but  you  will  find  some 
heated  controversy  raging  over  Free  Will  and  Pre- 
destination, the  Validity  of  Holy  Orders,  Original  Sin, 
Redemption  of  the  many  or  the  few: 

Go  it  Justice,  go  it  Mercy! 
Go  it  Douglas,  go  it  Percy! 

But  the  contestants  do  not  write  in  the  language  their 
fathers  used.  They  seem  to  have  lost  the  vocabulary, 
and  to  have  picked  up,  in  place  of  it,  the  jargon  of  the 
Yellow  Press,  which  does  not  tend  to  clear  definition 
on  points  of  theology.  The  mass  of  all  this  controversial 
stuff  is  no  more  absurd,  no  more  frantic,  than  it  used 
to  be:  but  in  language  it  has  lost  its  dignity  with  its 
homeliness.  It  has  lost  the  colouring  of  the  Scriptures, 
the  intonation  of  the  Scriptures,  the  Scriptural  hahit. 

If  I  turn  from  it  to  a  passage  in  Bunyan,  I  am  con- 
versing with  a  man  who,  though  he  has  read  few  other 
books,  has  imbibed  and  soaked  the  Authorised  Version 
into  his  fibres  so  that  he  cannot  speak  but  BibHcally. 
Listen  to  this : 

As  to  the  situation  of  this  town,  it  lieth  just  between  the 
two  worlds,  and  the  first  founder,  and  builder  of  it,  so  far  as 


On  Reading  the  Bible  15  a 

by  the  best,  and  most  authentic  records  I  can  gather,  was 
one  Shaddai ;  and  he  built  it  for  his  own  delight.  He  made  it 
the  mirror,  and  glory  of  all  that  he  made,  even  the  Top- 
piece  beyond  anything  else  that  he  did  in  that  country' :  yea, 
so  goodly  a  town  was  Mansoul,  when  first  built,  that  it  is 
said  by  some,  the  Gods  at  the  setting  up  thereof,  came  down 
to  see  it,  and  sang  for  joy.  .  .  . 

The  wall  of  the  town  was  well  built,  yea  so  fast  and  firm 
was  it  knit  and  compact  together,  that  had  it  not  been  for 
the  townsmen  themselves,  they  could  not  have  been  shaken, 
or  broken  for  ever. 

Or  take  this : 

Now  as  they  were  going  along  and  talking,  they  espied  a 
Boy  feeding  his  Father's  Sheep.  The  Boy  was  in  very  mean 
Cloaths,  but  of  a  very  fresh  and  well-favoured  Countenance, 
and  as  he  sate  by  himself  he  Sung.  .  .  .  Then  said  their 
Guide,  Do  you  hear  him?  I  will  dare  to  say,  that  this  Boy 
lives  a  merrier  Life,  and  wears  more  of  that  Herb  called 
Heart's-ease  in  his  Bosom,  than  he  that  is  clad  in  Silk  and 
Velvet. 

I  choose  ordinary  passages,  not  solemn  ones  in  which 
Bunyan  is  consciously  scriptural.  But  you  cannot  miss 
the  accent. 

That  is  Bunyan,  of  course ;  and  I  am  far  from  saying 
that  the  labouring  men  among  whom  I  grew  up,  at  the 
fishery  or  in  the  hayfield,  talked  with  Bunyan's  magic. 
But  I  do  assert  that  they  had  something  of  the  accent ; 
enough  to  be  like,  in  a  child's  mind,  the  fishermen  and 
labourers  among  whom  Christ  found  his  first  disciples. 
They  had  the  large  simplicity  of  speech,  the  cadence, 
the  accent.    But  let  me  turn  to  Ireland,  where,  though 


152  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

not  directly  derived  from  our  English  Bible  a  similar 
scriptural  accent  survives  among  the  peasantry  and  is, 
I  hope,  ineradicable.  I  choose  two  sentences  from  a 
book  of  "Memories"  recently  written  by  the  survivor 
of  the  two  ladies  who  together  wrote  the  incomparable 
"Irish  R.M. "  The  first  was  uttered  by  a  small  culti- 
vator who  was  asked  why  his  potato-crop  had  failed : 

"I  couldn't  hardly  say"  was  the  answer.    "Whatever  it 
was,  God  spumed  them  in  a  boggy  place." 

Is  that  not  the  accent  of  Isaiah? 

He  will  surely  violently  turn  and  toss  thee  like  a  ball  into 
a  large  country. 

The  other  is  the  benediction  bestowed  upon  the  late 
Miss  Violet  Martin  by  a  beggar-woman  in  Skibbereen : 

Sure  ye're  always  laughing!    That  ye  may  laugh  in  the 
sight  of  the  Glory  of  Heaven! 


VI 


But  one  now  sees,  or  seems  to  see,  that  we  children 
did,  in  our  time,  read  the  Bible  a  great  deal,  if  per- 
force we  were  taught  to  read  it  in  sundry  bad  ways :  of 
which  perhaps  the  worst  was  that  oui  elders  hammered 
in  all  the  books,  all  the  parts  of  it  as  equally  inspired 
and  therefore  equivalent.  Of  course  this  meant  among 
other  things  that  they  hammered  it  all  in  literally :  but 
let  us  not  sentimentalise  over  that.    It  really  did  no 


On  Reading  the  Bible  153 

child  any  harm  to  believe  that  the  universe  was  created 
in  a  working  week  of  six  days,  and  that  God  sat  down 
and  looked  at  it  on  Sunday,  and  behold  it  was  very 
good.  A  week  is  quite  a  long  while  to  a  child,  yet  a 
definite  division  rounding  off  a  square  job.  The  bath- 
taps  at  home  usually,  for  some  unexplained  reason,  went 
wrong  during  the  week-end:  the  plumber  came  in  on 
Monday  and  carried  out  his  tools  on  Saturday  at  mid- 
day. These  little  analogies  really  do  (I  believe)  help  the 
infant  mind,  and  not  at  all  to  its  later  detriment.  Nor 
shall  I  ask  you  to  sentimentalise  overmuch  upon  the 
harm  done  to  a  child  by  teaching  him  that  the  blood- 
thirsty jealous  Jehovah  of  the  Book  of  Joshua  is  as 
venerable  (being  one  and  the  same  unalterably,  "with 
whom  is  no  variableness,  neither  shadow  of  turning") 
as  the  Father  "the  same  Lord,  whose  property  is  always 
to  have  mercy, "  revealed  to  us  in  the  Gospel,  invoked 
for  us  at  the  Eucharist.  I  do  most  seriously  hold  it  to 
be  fatal  if  we  grow  up  and  are  fossilised  in  any  such 
belief.  (Where  have  we  better  proof  than  in  the  invo- 
cations which  the  family  of  the  Hohenzollerns  have 
been  putting  up,  any  time  since  August,  19 14 — and  for 
years  before — to  this  bloody  identification  of  the 
Christian  man's  God  with  Joshua's  ?)  My  simple  advice 
is  that  you  not  only  read  the  Bible  early  but  read  it 
again  and  again :  and  if  on  the  third  or  fifth  reading  it 
leave  you  just  where  the  first  left  you — if  you  still  get 
from  it  no  historical  sense  of  a  race  developing  its  con- 
cept of  God — well  then,  the  point  of  the  advice  is  lost, 
and  there  is  no  more  to  be  said.    But  over  this  business 


154  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

of  teaching  the  Book  of  Joshua  to  children  I  am  in  some 
doubt.  A  few  years  ago  an  Education  Committee,  of 
which  I  happened  to  be  Chairman,  sent  ministers  of 
rehgion  about,  two  by  two,  to  test  the  religious  in- 
struction given  in  Elementary  Schools.  Of  the  two  who 
worked  around  my  immediate  neighbourhood,  one  was 
a  young  priest  of  the  Church  of  England,  a  mediaevalist 
with  an  ardent  passion  for  ritual;  the  other  a  gentle 
Congregational  minister,  a  mere  holy  and  humble  man 
of  heart.  They  became  great  friends  in  the  course  of 
these  expeditions,  and  they  brought  back  this  report — 
"It  is  positively  wicked  to  let  these  children  grow  up 
being  taught  that  there  is  no  difference  in  value  between 
Joshua  and  St.  Matthew:  that  the  God  of  the  Lord's 
Prayer  is  the  same  who  commanded  the  massacre  of 
Ai."  Well,  perhaps  it  is.  Seeing  how  bloodthirsty  old 
men  can  be  in  these  days,  one  is  tempted  to  think  that 
they  can  hardly  be  caught  too  young  and  taught  de- 
cency, if  not  mansuetude.  But  I  do  not  remember,  as  a 
child,  feeling  any  horror  about  it,  or  any  difficulty  in 
reconciling  the  two  concepts.  Children  are  a  bit  blood- 
thirsty, and  I  observe  that  two  volumes  of  the  late 
Captain  Mayne  Reid — The  Rifle  Rangers,  and  The  Scalp 
Hunters — have  just  found  their  way  into  The  World's 
Classics  and  are  advertised  alongside  of  Ruskin's  Sesame 
and  Lilies  and  the  De  Imitatione  Christi,  I  leave  you  to 
think  this  out ;  adding  but  this  for  a  suggestion :  that  as 
the  Hebrew  outgrew  his  primitive  tribal  beliefs,  so  the 
bettering  mind  of  man  casts  off  the  old  clouts  of  primi- 
tive doctrine,  he  being  in  fact  better  than  his  religion. 


On  Reading  the  Bible  i55 

You  have  all  heard  preachers  trying  to  show  that  Jacob 
was  a  better  fellow  than  Esau  somehow.  You  have  all, 
I  hope,  rejected  every  such  explanation.  Esau  was  a 
gentleman :  Jacob  was  not.  The  mind  of  a  young  man 
meets  that  waU,  and  there  is  no  passing  it.  Later,  the 
mind  of  the  youth  perceives  that  the  writer  of  Jacob's 
history  has  a  tribal  mind  and  supposes  throughout  that 
for  the  advancement  of  his  tribe  many  things  are  per- 
missible and  even  admirable  which  a  later  and  urbaner 
mind  rejects  as  detestably  sharp  practice.  And  the 
story  of  Jacob  becomes  the  more  valuable  to  us  his- 
torically as  we  realise  what  a  hero  he  is  to  the  bland 
chronicler. 


VII 


But  of  another  thing,  Gentlemen,  I  am  certain:  that 
we  were  badly  taught  in  that  these  books,  while 
preached  to  us  as  equivalent,  were  kept  in  separate 
compartments.  We  were  taught  the  books  of  Kings 
and  Chronicles  as  history.  The  prophets  were  the 
Prophets,  inspired  men  predicting  the  future — which 
they  only  did  by  chance,  as  every  inspired  man  does. 
Isaiah  was  never  put  into  relation  with  his  time  at  all ; 
which  means  everything  to  our  understanding  of  Isaiah, 
whether  of  Jerusalem  or  of  Babylon.  We  ploughed 
through  Kings  and  Chronicles,  and  made  out  lists  of 
rulers,  with  dates  and  capital  events.  Isaiah  was  all 
fine  writing  about  nothing  at  all,  and  historically  we 
were  concerned  with  him  only  to  verify  some  far-fetched 


156  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

reference  to  the  Messiah  in  this  or  that  Evangelist. 
But  there  is  not,  never  has  been,  really  fine  literature — 
like  Isaiah — composed  about  nothing  at  all :  and  in  the 
mere  matter  of  prognostication  I  doubt  if  such  experts 
as  Zadkiel  and  Old  Moore  have  anything  to  fear  from 
any  School  of  Writing  we  can  build  up  in  Cambridge. 
But  if  we  had  only  been  taught  to  read  Isaiah  concur- 
rently with  the  Books  of  the  Kings,  what  a  fire  it  woidd 
have  kindled  among  the  dry  bones  of  our  studies ! 

Then  said  the  Lord  unto  Isaiah,  Go  forth  now  to  meet 
Ahaz,  thou,  and  Shear-jashub  thy  son,  at  the  end  of  the 
conduit  of  the  upper  pool  in  the  highway  of  the  fuller's  field. 

Scholars,  of  course,  know  the  poHtical  significance  of 
that  famous  meeting.  But  if  we  had  only  known  it ;  if 
we  had  only  been  taught  what  Assyria  was — with  its 
successive  monarchs  Tiglath-pileser,  Shalmaneser,  Sar- 
gon,  Sennacherib ;  and  why  Syria  and  Israel  and  Egypt 
were  trying  to  cajole  or  force  Judah  into  alliance; 
what  a  difference  (I  say)  this  passage  would  have 
meant  to  us! 

VIII 

I  daresay,  after  all,  that  the  best  way  is  not  to  bother 
a  boy  too  early  and  overmuch  with  history;  that  the 
best  way  is  to  let  him  ramp  at  first  through  the  Scrip- 
tures even  as  he  might  through  The  Arabian  Nights :  to 
let  him  take  the  books  as  they  come,  merely  indicating, 
for  instance,  that  Job  is  a  great  poem,  the  Psalms  great 


On  Reading  the  Bible  i57 

Ijnics,  the  story  of  Ruth  a  lovely  idyll,  the  Song  of 
Songs  the  perfection  of  an  Eastern  love-poem.  Well, 
and  what  then  ?  He  will  certainly  get  less  of  The  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night  into  it,  and  certainly  more  of  the  truth 
of  the  East.  There  he  will  feel  the  whole  splendid 
barbaric  story  for  himself:  the  flocks  of  Abraham  and 
Laban:  the  trek  of  Jacob's  sons  to  Egypt  for  corn:  the 
figures  of  Rebekah  at  the  well,  Ruth  at  the  gleaning, 
and  Rispah  beneath  the  gibbet :  Sisera  bowing  in  weari- 
ness: Saul — great  Saul — by  the  tent-prop  with  the 
jewels  in  his  turban : 

All  its  lordly  male-sapphires,  and  rubies  courageous  at 
heart. 

Or  consider — to  choose  one  or  two  pictures  out  of  the 
tremendous  procession — consider  Michal,  Saul's  royal 
daughter:  how  first  she  is  given  in  marriage  to  David 
to  be  a  snare  for  him ;  how  loving  him  she  saves  his  life, 
letting  him  down  from  the  window  and  dressing  up  an 
image  on  the  bed  in  his  place :  how,  later,  she  is  handed 
over  to  another  husband  Phaltiel,  how  David  demands 
her  back,  and  she  goes : 

And  her  husband  (Phaltiel)  went  with  her  along  weeping 
behind  her  to  Bahurim.  Then  said  Abner  unto  him.  Go, 
retiun.     And  he  returned. 

Or,  still  later,  how  the  revulsion  takes  her,  Saul's 
daughter,  as  she  sees  David  capering  home  before  the 
ark,  and  how  her  affection  had  done  with  this  emotional 


158  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

man  of  the  ruddy  countenance,  so  prone  to  weep  in  his 
bed: 

And  as  the  ark  of  the  Lord  came  into  the  city  of  David, 
Michal  Saul's  daughter — 

Mark  the  three  words — 

Michal  Saul's  daughter  looked  through  a  window,  and  saw 
King  David  leaping  and  dancing  before  the  Lord;  and  she 
despised  him  in  her  heart. 

The  whole  story  goes  into  about  ten  lines.  Your  psycho- 
logical novelist  nowadays,  given  the  wit  to  invent  it, 
would  make  it  cover  five  hundred  pages  at  least. 

Or  take  the  end  of  David  in  the  first  two  chapters  of 
the  First  Book  of  Kings,  with  its  tale  of  Oriental  in- 
trigues, plots,  treacheries,  murderings,  in  the  depths  of 
the  horrible  palace  wherein  the  old  man  is  dying.  Or 
read  of  Solomon  and  his  ships  and  his  builders,  and  see 
his  Temple  growing  (as  Heber  put  it)  like  a  tall  palm 
with  no  sound  of  hammers.  Or  read  again  the  end  of 
Queen  Athaliah : 

And  when  Athaliah  heard  the  noise  of  the  guard  and  of 
the  people,  she  came  to  the  people  into  the  temple  of  the 
Lord. — And  when  she  looked,  behold,  the  king  stood  by  a 
pillar,  as  the  manner  was,  and  the  princes  and  the  trumpet- 
ers by  the  king,  and  all  the  people  of  the  land  rejoiced,  and 
blew  with  trumpets:  And  Athaliah  rent  her  clothes,  and 
cried  Treason,  Treason. — But  Jehoiada  the  priest  com- 
manded the  captains  of  the  hundreds,  the  officers  of  the  host, 
and  said  unto  them.  Have  her  forth  without  the  ranges.  .  .  . 

— And  they  laid  hands  on  her;  and  she  went  by  the  way 


On  Reading  the  Bible  159 

by  the  which  the  horses  came  into  the  king's  house:  and 
there  was  she  slain. 

Let  a  youngster  read  this,  I  say,  just  as  it  is  written ; 
and  how  the  true  East — sound,  scent,  form,  colour — 
pours  into  the  narrative! — cymbals  and  trumpets, 
leagues  of  sand,  caravans  trailing  through  the  heat, 
priest  and  soldiery  and  kings  going  up  between  them  to 
the  altar;  blood  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  blood  every- 
where, smell  of  blood  mingled  with  spices,  sandal-wood, 
dung  of  camels ! 

Yes,  but  how — if  you  will  permit  the  word — how  the 
enjoyment  of  it  as  magnificent  literature  might  be  en- 
hanced by  a  scholar  who  would  condescend  to  whisper, 
of  his  knowledge,  the  magical  word  here  or  there,  to 
the  child  as  he  reads !     For  an  instance : 

No  child — no  grown  man  with  any  sense  of  poetry — 
can  deny  his  ear  to  the  Forty-fifth  Psalm ;  the  one  that 
begins  "My  heart  is  inditing  a  good  matter,"  and 
plunges  into  a  hymn  of  royal  nuptials.  First  (you  re- 
member) the  singing-men,  the  sons  of  Korah,  lift  their 
chant  to  the  bridegroom,  the  King: 

Gird  thy  sword  upon  thy  thigh,  O  most  mighty  .  .  . 
And  in  thy  majesty  ride  prosperously. 

Or  as  we  hear  it  in  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer: 

Good  luck  have  thou  with  thine  honour  .  .  . 
— because  of  truth  and  meekness  and  righteousness;  and 
thy  right  hand  shall  teach  thee  terrible  things.  .  .  . 

All  thy  garments  smell  of  myrrh,  and  aloes,  and  cassia, 


i6o  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

out  of  the  ivory  palaces,  whereby  they  have  made  thee 
glad. 

Anon  they  turn  to  the  Bride: 

Hearken,  O  daughter,  and  consider,  and  incline  thine  ear; 
forget  also  thine  own  people,  and  thy  father's  house.  .  .  . 

The  King's  daughter  is  all  glorious  within :  her  clothing  is 
of  wrought  gold. 

She  shall  be  brought  unto  the  king  in  raiment  of  needle- 
work :  the  virgins  that  be  her  fellows  shall  bear  her  company. 
And  the  daughter  of  Tyre  shall  be  there  with  a  gift.  Instead 
of  thy  fathers  shall  be  thy  children,  whom  thou  mayest 
make  princes  in  all  the  earth. 

For  whom  (wonders  the  young  reader,  spell-bound 
by  this)  for  what  happy  bride  and  bridegroom  was  this 
glorious  chant  raised?  Now  suppose  that,  just  here,  he 
has  a  scholar  ready  to  tell  him  what  is  likeliest  true — 
that  the  bridegroom  was  Ahab — that  the  bride,  the 
daughter  of  Sidon,  was  no  other  than  Jezebel,  and 
became  what  Jezebel  now  is — with  what  an  awe  of 
surmise  would  two  other  passages  of  the  history,  toll  on 
his  ear? 

And  one  washed  the  chariot  in  the  pool  of  Samaria;  and 
the  dogs  licked  up  his  blood.  .  .  . 

And  when  he  (Jehu)  was  come  in,  he  did  eat  and  drink, 
and  said,  Go,  see  now  this  cursed  woman,  and  bury  her :  for 
she  is  a  king's  daughter. 

And  they  went  to  btu-y  her:  but  they  found  no  more  of 
her  than  the  skull,  and  the  feet,  and  the  palms  of  her  hands. 

Wherefore  they  came  again,  and  told  him.  And  he  said. 
This  is  the  word  of  the  Lord,  which  he  spake  by  his  servant 
Elijah  the  Tishbite,  saying,  In  the  portion  of  Jezreel  shall 


On  Reading  the  Bible  i6i 

dogs  eat  the  flesh  of  Jezebel.  .  .  so  that  (men)  shall  not  say, 
This  is  Jezebel. 

In  another  lecture,  Gentlemen,  I  propose  to  take  up 
the  argument  and  attempt  to  bring  it  to  this  point. 
"How  can  we,  having  this  incomparable  work,  necessary 
for  study  by  all  who  would  write  English,  bring  it 
within  the  ambit  of  the  English  Tripos  and  yet  avoid 
offending  the  experts? " 


ON  READING  THE  BIBLE  (II) 


VV/E  left  off  last  term,  Gentlemen,  upon  a  note  of 

protest.     We  wondered  why  it  should  be  that 

our  English  Version  of  the  Bible  lies  under  the  ban  of 

schoolmasters,  Boards  of  Studies,  and  all  who  devise 

courses  of  reading  and  examinations  in  English  Litera- 

,ture:  that  among  our   "prescribed  books"   we  find 

Chaucer's  Prologue,  we  find  Hamlet,  we  find  Paradise 

Lost,  we  find  Pope's  Essay  on  Man,  again  and  again,  but 

The  Book  oj  Job  never;  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield  and 

Gray's  Elegy  diten,  but  Ruth  or  Isaiah,  Ecclesiasticus  or 

\A---  ^isdorn  never.     / 

I  propose" this  morning: 

(i)  to  enquire  into  the  reasons  for  this,  so  far  as  I 
can  guess  and  interpret  them ; 

(2)  to  deal  «with  such  reasons  as  we  can  discover  or 
surmise ; 

(3)  to  suggest  to-day,  some  simple  first  aid:  and  in 
another  lecture,  taking  for  experiment  a  single  book 
from  the  Authorised  Version,  some  practical  ways  of 
including  it  in  the  ambit  of  our  new  English  Tripos. 
This  will  compel  me  to  be  definite :  and  as  definite  pro- 
posals invite  definite  objections,  by  this  method  we  are 

162 


On  Reading  the  Bible  163 

likeliest  to  know  where  we  are,  and  if  the  reform  we 
seek  be  realisable  or  illusory. 


II 


I  shall  ask  you  then,  first,  to  assent  with  me,  that  the 
Authorised  Version  of  the  Holy  Bible  is,  as  a  literary 
achievement,  one  of  the  greatest  in  our  language;  nay, 
with  the  possible  exception  of  the  complete  works  of 
Shakespeare,  the  very  greatest.  You  will  certainly  not 
deny  this. 

As  little,  or  less,  will  you  deny  that  more  deeply  than 
any  other  book — more  deeply  even  than  aU  the  writings 
of  Shakespeare — far  more  deeply — it  has  influenced  our 
literature.  Here  let  me  repeat  a  short  passage  from  a 
former  lecture  of  mine  (May  15,  1913,  five  years  ago). 
I  had  quoted  some  few  glorious  sentences  such  as : 

Thine  eyes  shall  see  the  king  in  his  beauty:  they  shall 
behold  the  land  that  is  very  far  off. 

And  a  man  shall  be  as  an  hiding-place  from  the  wind,  and 
a  covert  from  the  tempest ;  as  rivers  of  water  in  a  dry  place, 
as  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land.  .  .  . 

So  when  this  corruptible  shall  have  put  on  incomiption 
and  this  mortal  shall  have  put  on  immortality  .  .  . 

and  having  quoted  these  I  went  on : 

When  a  nation  has  achieved  this  manner  of  diction,  these 
rhythms  for  its  dearest  beliefs,  a  literature  is  surely  estab- 
lished. .  .  .  Wyclif ,  Tyndale,  Coverdale  and  others  before 
the  forty-seven  had  wrought.  The  Authorised  Version, 
setting  a  seal  on  all,  set  a  seal  on  our  national  style.  .  .  . 


i64  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

It  has  cadences  homely  and  sublime,  yet  so  harmonises  them 
that  the  voice  is  always  one  Simple  men — holy  and  humble 
men  of  heart  like  Isaak  Walton  and  Bunyan — have  their 
lips  touched  and  speak  to  the  homelier  tune.  Proud  men, 
scholars — Milton,  Sir  Thomas  Browne — practise  the  rolling 
Latin  sentence;  but  upon  the  rhythms  of  our  Bible  they, 
too,  fall  back — "The  great  mutations  of  the  world  are  acted, 
or  time  may  be  too  short  for  our  designs."  "Acquaint  thy- 
self with  the  Choragium  of  the  stars."  "There  is  nothing 
immortal  but  immortality."  The  precise  man  Addison 
cannot  excel  one  parable  in  brevity  or  in  heavenly  clarity: 
the  two  parts  of  Johnson's  antithesis  come  to  no  more  than 
this  "Our  Lord  has  gone  up  to  the  sound  of  a  tnmip; 
with  the  sound  of  a  trump  our  Lord  has  gone  up."  The 
Bible  controls  its  enemy  Gibbon  as  surely  as  it  haunts 
the  curious  music  of  a  light  sentence  of  Thackeray's.  It 
is  in  everything  we  see,  hear,  feel,  because  it  is  in  us,  in  our 
blood. 

If  that  be  true,  or  less  than  gravely  overstated :  if  the 
English  Bible  hold  this  unique  place  in  our  literature; 
if  it  be  at  once  a  monument,  an  example  and  (best  of 
all)  a  well  of  English  undefiled,  no  stagnant  water,  but 
quick,  running,  curative,  refreshing,  vivifying;  may  we 
not  agree.  Gentlemen,  to  require  the  weightiest  reason 
why  our  instructors  should  continue  to  hedge  in  the 
temple  and  pipe  the  fountain  off  in  professional  con- 
duits, forbidding  it  to  irrigate  freely  our  ground  of 
study  ? 

It  is  done  so  complacently  that  I  do  not  remember  to 
have  met  one  single  argument  put  up  in  defence  of  it; 
and  so  I  am  reduced  to  guess-work.  What  can  be  the 
justifying  reason  for  an  embargo  on  the  face  of  it  so 
silly  and  arbitrary,  if  not  senseless  ? 


On  Reading  the  Bible  165 

III 

Does  it  reside  perchance  in  some  primitive  instinct  of 
taboo;  of  a  superstition  of  fetish-worship  fencing  off 
sacred  things  as  unmentionable,  and  reinforced  by  the 
bad  Puritan  notion  that  holy  things  are  by  no  means  to 
be  enjoyed  ? 

If  so,  I  begin  by  referring  you  to  the  Greeks  and 
their  attitude  towards  the  Homeric  poems.  We,  of 
course,  hold  the  Old  Testament  more  sacred  than 
Homer.  But  I  very  much  doubt  if  it  be  more  sacred  to 
us  than  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey  were  to  an  old  Athen- 
ian, in  his  day.  To  the  Greeks — and  to  forget  this  is  the 
fruitfullest  source  of  error  in  dealing  with  the  Tra- 
gedians or  even  with  Aristophanes — to  the  Greeks, 
their  religion,  such  as  it  was,  mattered  enormously. 
They  built  their  Theatre  upon  it,  as  we  most  certainly 
do  not;  which  means  that  it  had  sunk  into  their  daily 
life  and  permeated  their  enjoyment  of  it,  as  our  religion 
certainly  does  not  affect  our  life  to  enhance  it  as 
amusing  or  pleasurable.  We  go  to  Church  on  Sunday, 
and  write  it  off  as  an  observance;  but  if  eager  to  be 
happy  with  a  free  heart,  we  close  early  and  steal  a  few 
hours  from  the  working-day.  We  antagonise  religion 
and  enjoyment,  worship  and  holiday.  Nature  being 
too  strong  for  any  convention  of  ours,  courtship  has 
asserted  itself  as  permissible  on  the  Sabbath,  if  not  as  a 
Sabbatical  institution. 

Now  the  Greeks  were  just  as  much  slaves  to  the  letter 
of  their  Homer  as  any  Auld  Licht  Elder  to  the  letter  of 


166  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

St.  Paul.  No  one  will  accuse  Plato  of  being  over- 
friendly  to  poetry.  Yet  I  believe  you  will  find  in  Plato 
some  150  direct  citations  from  Homer,  not  to  speak  of 
allusions  scattered  broadcast  through  the  dialogues, 
often  as  texts  for  long  argument.  Of  these  citations  and 
allusions  an  inordinate  number  seem  to  us  laboriously 
trivial — that  is  to  say,  unless  we  put  ourselves  into  the 
Hellenic  mind.  On  the  other  hand  Plato  uses  others 
to  enforce  or  illustrate  his  profoundest  doctrines.  For 
an  instance,  in  Phcedo  (§  96)  Socrates  is  arguing  that 
the  soul  cannot  be  one  with  the  harmony  of  the  bodily 
affections,  being  herself  the  master-player  who  com- 
mands the  strings : 

— almost  always  [he  says]  opposing  and  coercing  them 
in  all  sorts  of  ways  throughout  life,  sometimes  more  vio- 
lently with  the  pains  of  medicine  and  gymnastic;  then 
again  more  gently ; — threatening,  and  also  reprimanding  the 
desires,  passions,  fears,  as  if  talking  to  a  thing  which  is  not 
herself ;  as  Homer  in  the  Odyssey  represents  Odysseus  doing 
in  the  words 

aTTjGoq  OS  'izXri^ac,  KpaotYjv  iQvtxaxe  jxijOg). 
TexTvaOt  ot],  xpccStiQ-      kolX  /cuvTspov  aXXo  tcot'  'i'z\f\q. 
He  beat  his  breast,  and  thus  reproached  his  heart: 
Endure,  my  heart;  far  worse  hast  thou  endured. 

Do  you  think  [asks  Socrates]  that  Homer  wrote  this  under 
the  idea  that  the  soul  is  a  harmony  capable  of  being  led  by 
the  affections  of  the  body,  and  not  rather  of  a  nature  which 
should  lead  and  master  them — herself  a  far  diviner  thing 
than  any  harmony? 

A  Greek,  then,  will  use  Homer — his  Bible — minutely 
on  niceties  of  conduct  or  broadly  on  first  principles 


On  Reading  the  Bible  167 

of  philosophy  or  reHgion.  But  equally,  since  it  is 
poetry  all  the  time  to  him,  he  will  take — or  to  instance 
particular  writers,  Aristotle  and  the  late  Greek,  Lon- 
ginus  will  take — a  single  hexameter  to  illustrate  a 
minute  trick  of  style  or  turn  of  phrase,  as  equally  he 
will  choose  a  long  passage  or  the  whole  Iliad,  the  whole 
Odyssey,  to  illustrate  a  grand  rule  of  poetic  construction, 
a  first  principle  of  aesthetics.  For  an  example — ' '  Here- 
in,"  says  Aristotle,  starting  to  show  that  an  Epic  poem 
must  have  Unity  of  Subject — "Herein,  to  repeat  what 
we  have  said  before,  we  have  a  further  proof  of  Homer's 
superiority  to  the  rest.  He  did  not  attempt  to  deal 
even  with  the  Trojan  War  in  its  entirety,  though  it 
was  a  whole  story  with  a  definite  beginning,  middle,  and 
end — feeling  apparently  that  it  was  too  long  a  story 
to  be  taken  in  at  one  view  or  else  over-complicated  by 
variety  of  incidents."  And  as  Aristotle  takes  the  Iliad 
— his  Bible — to  illustrate  a  grand  rule  of  poetical  con- 
struction, so  the  late  writer  of  his  tradition — Longinus — 
will  use  it  to  exhibit  the  core  and  essence  of  poetical 
subHmity;  as  in  his  famous  ninth  chapter,  of  which 
Gibbon  wrote : 

The  ninth  chapter  ...  [of  the  nEPI^nSOYS  or  De 
Suhlimitate  of  Longinus]  is  one  of  the  finest  monuments  of 
antiquity.  Till  now,  I  was  acquainted  only  with  two  ways 
of  criticising  a  beautiful  passage:  the  one,  to  show,  by  an 
exact  anatomy  of  it,  the  distinct  beauties  of  it,  and  whence 
they  sprung;  the  other,  an  idle  exclamation,  or  a  general 
encomium,  which  leaves  nothing  behind  it.  Longinus  has 
shown  me  that  there  is  a  third.  He  tells  me  his  own  feelings 
upon  reading  it ;  and  tells  them  with  so  much  energy,  that 


i68  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

he  communicates  them.  I  aknost  doubt  which  is  more 
sublime,  Homer's  Battle  of  the  Gods,  or  Longinus's  Apos- 
trophe to  Terentianus  upon  it. 

Well,  let  me  quote  you,  in  translation,  a  sentence  or 
two  from  this  chapter,  which  produced  upon  Gibbon 
such  an  effect  as  almost  to  anticipate  Walter  Pater's 
famous  definition,  "To  feel  the  virtue  of  the  poet,  of 
the  painter,  to  disengage  it,  to  set  it  forth — these  are 
the  three  stages  of  the  critic's  duty." 

"Elsewhere, "  says  Longinus,  "  I  have  written  as  follows : 
Sublimity  is  the  echo  of  a  great  soul." 

"Sublimity  is  the  echo  of  a  great  soul." — It  was 
worth  repeating  too — was  it  not  ? 

For  it  is  not  possible  that  men  with  mean  and  servile 
ideas  and  aims  prevailing  throughout  their  lives  should 
produce  anything  that  is  admirable  and  worthy  of  immor- 
tality. Great  accents  we  expect  to  fall  from  the  lips  of 
those  whose  thoughts  are  deep  and  grave.  .  .  .  Hear  how 
magnificently  Homer  speaks  of  the  higher  powers:  "As 
far  as  a  man  seeth  with  his  eyes  into  the  haze  of  distance  as 
he  sitteth  upon  a  cliff  of  outlook  and  gazeth  over  the  wine- 
dark  sea,  even  so  far  at  a  bound  leap  the  neighing  horses  of 
the  Gods." 

"He  makes"  [says  Longinus]  "the  vastness  of  the 
world  the  measure  of  their  leap."  Then,  after  a  criti- 
cism of  the  Battle  of  the  Gods  (too  long  to  be  quoted 
here)  he  goes  on : 

Much  superior  to  the  passages  respecting  the  Battle  of  the 
Gods  are  those  which  represent  the  divine  nature  as  it  really 


On  Reading  the  Bible  169 

is — pure  and  great  and  undefiled ;  for  example,  what  is  said 
of  Poseidon. 

Her  far-stretching  ridges,  her  forest-trees,  quaked  in  dismay. 

And  her  peaks,  and  the  Trojans'  town,  and  the  ships  of 
Achaia's  array, 

Beneath  his  immortal  feet,  as  onward  Poseidon  strode. 

Then  over  the  surges  he  drave:  leapt,  sporting  before  the 
God, 

Sea-beasts  that  uprose  all  round  from  the  depths,  for  their 
king  they  knew, 

And  for  rapture  the  sea  was  disparted,  and  onward  the  car- 
steeds  flew.  * 

Then  how  does  Longinus  conclude?  Why,  very 
strangely — very  strangely  indeed,  whether  you  take  the 
treatise  to  be  by  that  Longinus,  the  Rhetorician  and 
Zenobia's  adviser,  whom  the  Emperor  Aurelian  put  to 
death,  or  prefer  to  believe  it  the  work  of  an  unknown 
hand  in  the  first  century.    The  treatise  goes  on : 

Similarly,  the  legislator  of  the  Jews  [Moses],  no  ordinary 
man,  having  formed  and  expressed  a  worthy  conception  of 
the  might  of  the  Godhead,  writes  at  the  very  beginning  of 
his  Laws,  "God  said" — What?  "Let  there  be  light,  and 
there  was  light." 

IV 

So  here.  Gentlemen,  you  have  Plato,  Aristotle, 
Longinus — all  Greeks  of  separate  states — men  of 
eminence  all  three,  and  two  of  surpassing  eminence,  all 
three  and  each  in  his  time  and  turn  treating  Homer 

*  I  borrow  the  verse  and  in  part  the  prose  of  Professor  W.  Rhys 
Roberts'  Translation. 


170  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

reverently  as  Holy  Writ  and  yet  enjoying  it  liberally  as 
poetry.  For  indeed  the  true  Greek  mind  had  no  thought 
to  separate  poetry  from  religion,  as  to  the  true  Greek 
mind  reverence  and  liberty  to  enjoy,  with  the  liberty  of 
mind  that  helps  to  enjoy,  were  all  tributes  to  the  same 
divine  thing.  They  had  no  professionals,  no  puritans, 
to  hedge  it  off  with  a  taboo:  and  so  when  the  last  and 
least  of  the  three,  Longinus,  comes  to  our  Holy  Writ — 
the  sublime  poetry  in  which  Christendom  reads  its  God, 
his  open  mind  at  once  recognises  it  as  poetry  and  as 
sublime.  ' '  God  said.  Let  there  be  light ;  and  there  was 
light."  If  Longinus  could  treat  this  as  sublime  poetry, 
why  cannot  we,  who  have  translated  and  made  it  ours? 


Are  we  forbidden  on  the  ground  that  our  Bible  is 
directly  inspired?  Well,  inspiration,  as  Sir  William 
Davenant  observed  and  rather  wittily  proved,  in  his 
Preface  to  Gorboduc,  "is  a  dangerous  term."  It  is 
dangerous  mainly  because  it  is  a  relative  term,  a  term 
of  degrees.  You  may  say  definitely  of  some  things  that 
the  writer  was  inspired,  as  you  may  certify  a  certain 
man  to  be  mad — that  is,  so  thoroughly  and  convincingly 
mad  that  you  can  order  him  under  restraint.  But  quite 
a  number  of  us  are  (as  they  say  in  my  part  of  the  world) 
"not  exactly,"  and  one  or  two  of  us  here  and  there  at 
moments  may  have  a  touch  even  of  inspiration.  So  of 
the  Bible  itself:  I  suppose  that  few  nowadays  would 
contend  it  to  be  all  inspired  equally.    "No"  you  may 


On  Reading  the  Bible  171 

say,  "not  all  equally:  but  all  of  it  directly,  as  no  other 
book  is. " 

To  that  I  might  answer,  "How  do  you  know  that 
direct  inspiration  ceased  with  the  Revelation  of  St.  John 
the  Divine,  and  closed  the  book.  It  may  be :  but  how 
do  you  know,  and  what  authority  have  you  to  say  that 
Wordsworth's  Tintern  Abbey,  for  example,  or  Browning's 
great  Invocation  of  Love  was  not  directly  inspired? 
Certainly  the  men  who  wrote  them  were  rapt  above 
themselves:  and,  if  not  directly,  why  indirectly,  and 
how? 

But  I  pause  on  the  edge  of  a  morass,  and  spring  back 
to  firmer  ground.  Our  Bible,  as  we  have  it,  is  a  trans- 
lation, made  by  forty-seven  men  and  published  in  the 
year  i6i  i.  The  original — and  I  am  still  on  firm  ground 
because  I  am  quoting  now  from  The  Cambridge  History 
of  English  Literature — ' '  either  proceeds  from  divine  in- 
spiration, as  some  will  have  it,  or,  according  to  others, 
is  the  fruit  of  the  religious  genius  of  the  Hebrew  race. 
From  either  point  of  view  the  authors  are  highly  gifted 
individuals"  [!] — 

highly  gifted  individuals,  who,  notwithstanding  their  diver- 
sities, and  the  progressiveness  observable  in  their  repre- 
sentations of  the  nature  of  God,  are  wonderfully  consistent 
in  the  main  tenor  of  their  writings,  and  serve,  in  general, 
for  mutual  confirmation  and  illustration.  In  some  cases, 
this  may  be  due  to  the  revision  of  earlier  productions  by 
later  writers,  which  has  thus  brought  more  primitive  con- 
ceptions into  a  degree  of  conformity  with  maturer  and  pro- 
founder  views;  but,  even  in  such  cases,  the  earlier  conception 
often  lends  itself,  without  wrenching,  to  the  deeper  inter- 


172  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

pretation  and  the  completer  exposition.    The  Bible  is  not 
distinctively  an  intellectual  achievement. 


In  all  earnest  I  protest  that  to  write  about  the  Bible  in 
such  a  fashion  is  to  demonstrate  inferentially  that  it  has 
never  quickened  you  with  its  glow;  that,  whatever  your 
learning,  you  have  missed  what  the  unlearned  Bunyan, 
for  example,  so  admirably  caught — the  true  wit  of  the 
book.  The  writer,  to  be  sure,  is  dealing  with  the  ori- 
ginals. Let  us  more  humbly  sit  at  the  feet  of  the 
translators.  "Highly  gifted  individuals,"  or  no,  the 
sort  of  thing  the  translators  wrote  was  "And  God  said, 
Let  there  be  light,"  "A  sower  went  forth  to  sow," 
"The  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  like  unto  leaven  which  a 
woman  took,"  "The  wages  of  sin  is  death,"  "The 
trumpet  shall  blow,"  "Jesus  wept,"  "Death  is  swal- 
lowed up  in  victory." 

Let  me  quote  you  for  better  encouragement,  as  well 
as  for  relief,  a  passage  from  Matthew  Arnold  on  the 
Authorised  Version : 

The  effect  of  Hebrew  poetry  can  be  preserved  and  trans- 
ferred in  a  foreign  language  as  the  effect  of  other  great 
poetry  cannot.  The  effect  of  Homer,  the  effect  of  Dante,  is 
and  must  be  in  great  measure  lost  in  a  translation,  because 
their  poetry  is  a  poetry  of  metre,  or  of  rhyme,  or  both ;  and 
the  effect  of  these  is  not  really  transferable.  A  man  may 
make  a  good  English  poem  with  the  matter  and  thoughts  of 
Homer  and  Dante,  may  even  try  to  reproduce  their  metre 
or  rhyme :  but  the  metre  and  rhyme  will  be  in  truth  his  own, 
and  the  effect  will  be  his,  not  the  effect  of  Homer  or  Dante. 
Isaiah's,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  poetry,  as  is  well  known,  of 
parallelism;  it  depends  not  on  metre  and  rhyme,  but  on  a 


On  Reading  the  Bible  i73 

balance  of  thought,  conveyed  by  a  corresponding  balance 
of  sentence;  and  the  efifect  of  this  can  be  transferred  to 
another  language.  .  .  .  Hebrew  poetry  has  in  addition  the 
effect  of  assonance  and  other  effects  which  cannot  perhaps 
be  transferred;  but  its  main  effect,  its  effect  of  parallelism 
of  thought  and  sentence,  can. 

I  take  this  from  the  preface  to  his  little  volume  in  which 
Arnold  confesses  that  his  "paramount  object  is  to  get 
Isaiah  enjoyed." 

VI 

Sundry  men  of  letters  besides  Matthew  Arnold  have 
pleaded  for  a  literary  study  of  the  Bible,  and  specially 
of  our  English  Version,  that  we  may  thereby  enhance 
our  enjoyment  of  the  work  itself  and,  through  this, 
enjoyment  and  understanding  of  the  rest  of  English 
Literature,  from  i6il  down.  Specially  among  these 
pleaders  let  me  mention  Mr.  F.  B.  Money-Coutts  (now 
Lord  Latymer)  and  a  Cambridge  man.  Dr.  R.  G. 
Moulton,  now  Professor  of  Literary  Theory  and  Inter- 
pretation in  the  University  of  Chicago.  Of  both  these 
writers  I  shall  have  something  to  say.  But  first  and 
generally,  if  you  ask  me  why  all  their  pleas  have  not 
yet  prevailed,  I  will  give  you  my  own  answer — the  fault 
as  usual  lies  in  ourselves — ^in  our  own  tameness  and 
incuriosity. 

There  is  no  real  trouble  with  the  taboo  set  up  by 
professionals  and  puritans,  if  we  have  the  courage  to 
walk  past  it  as  Christian  walked  between  the  lions;  no 
real  tyranny  we  could  not  overthrow,  if  it  were  worth 


174  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

while,  with  a  push;  no  need  at  all  for  us  to  "wreathe  our 
sword  in  myrtle  boughs."  What  tyranny  exists  has 
grown  up  through  the  quite  well-meaning  labours  of 
quite  well-meaning  men:  and,  as  I  started  this  lecture 
by  saying,  I  have  never  heard  any  serious  reason  given 
why  we  should  not  include  portions  of  the  English  Bible 
in  our  English  Tripos,  if  we  choose. 

Nos  te, 
Nos  facimus,  Scriptura,  deam. 

Then  why  don't  we  choose? 

To  answer  this,  we  must  (I  suggest)  seek  somewhat 
further  back.  The  Bible — that  is  to  say  the  body  of 
the  old  Hebrew  Literature  clothed  for  us  in  English — 
comes  to  us  in  our  childhood.  But  how  does  it 
come? 

Let  me,  amplifying  a  hint  from  Dr.  Moulton,  ask  you 
to  imagine  a  volume  including  the  great  books  of  our 
own  literature  all  bound  together  in  some  such  order  as 
this:  Paradise  Lost,  Darwin  s  Descent  of  Man,  The  Anglo- 
Saxon  Chronicle,  Walter  Map,  Mill  On  Liberty,  Hooker's 
Ecclesiastical  Polity,  The  Annual  Register,  Froissart, 
Adam  Smith's  Wealth  of  Nations,  Domesday  Book,  Le 
Morte  d' Arthur,  Campbell's  Lives  of  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellors, Boswell's  Johnson,  Barbour's  The  Bruce,  Hak- 
luyt's  Voyages,  Clarendon,  Macaulay,  the  plays  of 
Shakespeare,  Shelley's  Prometheus  Unbound,  The  Faerie 
Qu^ene,  Palgrave's  Golden  Treasury,  Bacon's  Essays, 
Swinburne's  Poems  and  Ballads,  FitzGerald's  Omar 
Khayydm,    Wordsworth,    Browning,    Sartor   Resartus, 


On  Reading  the  Bible  17 5 

Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  Burke's  Letters  on  a 
Regicide  Peace,  Ossian,  Piers  Plowman,  Burke's 
Thoughts  on  the  Present  Discontents,  Quarles,  Newman's 
Apologia,  Donne's  Sermons,  Ruskin,  Blake,  The  Deserted 
Village,  Manfred,  Blair's  Grave,  The  Complaint  of  Deor, 
Bailey's  Festus,  Thompson's  Hound  of  Heaven. 

Will  you  next  imagine  that  in  this  volume  most  of 
the  author's  names  are  lost;  that,  of  the  few  that  survive 
a  number  have  found  their  way  into  wrong  places ;  that 
Ruskin  for  example  is  credited  with  Sartor  Resartus; 
that  Laus  Veneris  and  Dolores  are  ascribed  to  Queen 
Elizabeth,  The  Anatomy  of  Melancholy  to  Charles  II; 
and  that,  as  for  the  titles,  these  were  never  invented  by 
the  authors,  but  by  a  Committee? 

Will  you  still  go  on  to  imagine  that  all  the  poetry  is 
printed  as  prose ;  while  all  the  long  paragraphs  of  prose 
are  broken  up  into  short  verses,  so  that  they  resemble 
the  little  passages  set  out  for  parsing  or  analysis  in  an 
examination  paper? 

This  device,  as  you  know,  was  first  invented  by  the 
exiled  translators  who  pubhshed  the  Geneva  Bible  (as 
it  is  called)  in  1557;  and  for  pulpit  use,  for  handiness 
of  reference,  for  "waling  a  portion,"  it  has  its  obvious 
advantages:  but  it  is,  after  all  and  at  the  best,  a  ver>" 
primitive  device:  and,  for  my  part,  I  consider  it  the 
deadliest  invention  of  all  for  robbing  the  book  of  out- 
ward resemblance  to  literature  and  converting  it  to  the 
aspect  of  a  gazetteer — a  hihlion  a-biblion,  as  Charles 
Lamb  puts  it. 

Have  we  done?    By  no  means.    Having  effected  all 


176  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

this,  let  us  pepper  the  result  over  with  italics  and 
numerals,  print  it  in  double  columns,  with  a  marginal 
gutter  on  either  side,  each  gutter  pouring  down  an  inky 
flow  of  references  and  cross  references.  Then,  and  not 
till  then,  is  the  outward  disguise  complete — so  far  as 
you  are  concerned.  It  remains  only  then  to  appoint  it 
to  be  read  in  Churches,  and  oblige  the  child  to  get 
selected  portions  of  it  by  heart  on  Sundays.  But  you 
are  yet  to  imagine  that  the  authors  themselves  have 
taken  a  hand  in  the  game:  that  the  later  ones  suppose 
all  the  earHer  ones  to  have  been  predicting  all  the 
time  in  a  nebulous  fashion  what  they  themselves  have 
to  tell,  and  indeed  to  have  written  mainly  with  that 
object :  so  that  Macaulay  and  Adam  Smith,  for  example, 
constantly  interrupt  the  thread  of  their  discourse  to 
affirm  that  what  they  tell  us  must  be  right  because 
Walter  Map  or  the  author  of  Piers  Plowman  foretold 
it  ages  before. 

Now  a  grown  man — that  is  to  say,  a  comparatively 
unimpressionable  man — that  is  again  to  say,  a  man  past 
the  age  when  to  enjoy  the  Bible  is  priceless — has  pro- 
bably found  out  somehow  that  the  word  prophet  does 
not  (in  spite  of  vulgar  usage)  mean  "a  man  who  pre- 
dicts." He  has  experienced  too  many  prophets  of  that 
kind — especially  since  19 14 — and  he  respects  Isaiah 
too  much  to  rank  Isaiah  among  them.  He  has  been  in 
love,  belike;  he  has  read  the  Song  of  Solomon:  he  very 
much  doubts  if,  on  the  evidence,  Solomon  was  the  kind 
of  lover  to  have  written  that  Song,  and  he  is  quite 
certain  that  when  the  lover  sings  to  his  beloved : 


On  Reading  the  Bible  i77 

Thy  two  breasts  are  like  two  young  roes  that  are  twins. 
Thy  neck  is  as  a  tower  of  ivory ;  thine  eyes  like  the  fishpools 
in  Heshbon,  by  the  gate  of  Bath-rabbim. 

— he  knows,  I  say,  that  this  is  not  a  description  of  the 
Church  and  her  graces,  as  the  chapter-heading  auda- 
ciously asserts.  But  he  is  lazy;  too  lazy  even  to  com- 
mend the  Revised  Version  for  striking  Solomon  out  of 
the  Bible,  calling  the  poem  The  Song  of  Songs,  omitting 
the  absurd  chapter-headings,  and  printing  the  poetry  as 
poetry  ought  to  be  printed.  The  old-fashioned  arrange- 
ment was  good  enough  for  him.  Or  he  goes  to  church 
on  Christmas  Day  and  listens  to  a  first  lesson,  of  which 
the  old  translators  made  nonsense,  and,  in  two  passages 
at  least,  stark  nonsense.  But,  again,  the  old  nonsense  is 
good  enough  for  him ;  soothing  in  fact.  He  is  not  even 
quite  sure  that  the  Bible,  looking  like  any  other  book, 
ought  to  be  put  in  the  hands  of  the  young. 

In  all  this  I  think  he  is  wrong.  I  am  sure  he  is  wrong 
if  our  contention  be  right,  that  the  English  Bible  should 
be  studied  by  us  all  for  its  poetry  and  its  wonderful 
language  as  well  as  for  its  religion — the  religion  and 
the  poetry  being  in  fact  inseparable.  For  then,  in 
Euripides's  phrase,  we  should  clothe  the  Bible  in  a  dress 
through  which  its  beauty  might  best  shine. 

VII 

If  you  ask  me  How?  I  answer — first  begging  you  to 
bear  in  mind  that  we  are  pl^-nning  the  form  of  the  book 
for  our  purpose,  and  that  other  forms  will  be  used  for 


178  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

other  purposes — that  we  should  start  with  the  simplest 
alterations,  such  as  these : 

(i)  The  books  should  be  re-arranged  in  their  right 
order,  so  far  as  this  can  be  ascertained  (and  much  of  it 
has  been  ascertained).  I  am  told,  and  I  can  well  believe 
that  this  would  at  a  stroke  clear  away  a  mass  of  con- 
fusion in  strictly  Biblical  criticism.  But  that  is  not  my 
business.  I  know  that  it  would  immensely  help  our 
literary  study. 

(2)  I  should  print  the  prose  continuously,  as  prose 
is  ordinarily  and  properly  printed:  and  the  poetry  in 
verse  lines,  as  poetry  is  ordinarily  and  properly  printed. 
And  I  should  print  each  on  a  page  of  one  column,  with 
none  but  the  necessary  notes  and  references,  and  these 
so  arranged  that  they  did  not  tease  and  distract  the  eye. 

(3)  This  arrangement  should  be  kept,  whether  for 
the  Tripos  we  prescribe  a  book  in  the  Authorised  text 
or  in  the  Revised.  As  a  rule,  perhaps — or  as  a  rule  for 
some  years  to  come — we  shall  probably  rely  on  the 
Authorised  Version :  but  for  some  books  (and  I  instance 
Job)  we  should  undoubtedly  prefer  the  Revised. 

(4)  With  the  verse  we  should,  I  hold,  go  farther  even 
than  the  Revisers.  As  you  know,  much  of  the  poetry 
in  the  Bible,  especially  of  such  as  was  meant  for  music, 
is  composed  in  stanzaic  form,  or  in  strophe  and  anti- 
strophe,  with  prelude  and  conclusion,  sometimes  with 
a  choral  refrain.  We  should  print  these,  I  contend,  in 
their  proper  form,  just  as  we  should  print  an  English 
poem  in  its  proper  form. 

I  shall  conclude  to-day  with  a  striking  instance  of 


On  Reading  the  Bible  179 

this,  with  four  strophes  from  the  107th  Psahn,  taking 
leave  to  use  at  will  the  Authorised,  the  Revised  and  the 
Coverdale  Versions.  Each  strophe  you  will  note,  has  a 
double  refrain.  As  Dr.  Moulton  points  out,  the  one  puts 
up  a  cry  for  help,  the  other  an  ejaculation  of  praise  after 
the  help  has  come.  Each  refrain  has  a  sequel  verse, 
which  appropriately  changes  the  motive  and  sets  that 
of  the  next  stanza : 

(i) 

They  wandered  in  the  wilderness  in  a  solitary  way; 

They  found  no  city  to  dwell  in. 

Hungry  and  thirsty, 

Their  soul  fainted  in  them. 

Then  they  cried  unto  the  Lord  in  their  trouble. 
And  he  delivered  them  out  of  their  distresses. 

He  led  them  forth  by  a  straight  way. 

That  they  might  go  to  a  city  of  habitation. 

Oh  that  men  would  praise  the  Lord  for  his  goodness, 
And  for  his  wonderful  works  to  the  children  of  men! 

For  he  satisfieth  the  longing  soul, 

And  filleth  the  hungry  soul  with  goodness. 

(ii) 

Such  as  sit  in  darkness,  and  in  the  shadow  of  death, 
Being  bound  in  affliction  and  iron; 
Because  they  rebelled  against  the  words  of  God, 
And  contemned  the  counsel  of  the  most  High : 
Therefore  he  brought  down  their  heart  with  labour ; 
They  fell  down,  and  there  was  none  to  help. 

Then  they  cried  unto  the  Lord  in  their  trouble, 

And  he  saved  them  out  of  their  distresses. 
He  brought  them  out  of  darkness  and  the  shadow  of  death, 
And  brake  their  bands  in  sunder. 


i8o  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Oh  that  men  would  praise  the  Lord  for  his  goodness, 
And  for  his  wonderful  works  to  the  children  of  men! 

For  he  hath  broken  the  gates  of  brass, 

And  cut  the  bars  of  iron  in  sunder. 


(iii) 

Fools  because  of  their  transgression, 
And  because  of  their  iniquities,  are  afflicted, 
Their  soul  abhorreth  all  manner  of  meat ; 
And  they  draw  near  unto  death's  door. 

Then  they  cry  unto  the  Lord  in  their  trouble. 
And  he  saveth  them  out  of  their  distresses. 
He  sendeth  his  word  and  healeth  them, 
And  delivereth  them  from  their  destructions. 

Oh  that  men  would  praise  the  Lord  for  his  goodness, 
And  for  his  wonderful  works  to  the  children  of  men! 
And  let  them  offer  the  sacrifices  of  thanksgiving. 
And  declare  his  works  with  singing ! 

(iv) 

They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships, 

That  do  business  in  great  waters; 

These  see  the  works  of  the  Lord, 

And  his  wonders  in  the  deep. 

For  he  commandeth,  and  raiseth  the  stormy  wind, 

Which  lifteth  up  the  waves  thereof. 

They  mount  up  to  the  heaven. 

They  go  down  again  to  the  depths; 

Their  soul  melteth  away  because  of  trouble. 

They  reel  to  and  fro. 

And  stagger  like  a  drunken  man. 

And  are  at  their  wits'  end. 

Then  they  cry  unto  the  Lord  in  their  trouble. 
And  he  bringeth  them  out  of  their  distresses. 

He  maketh  the  storm  a  calm. 

So  that  the  waves  thereof  are  still. 


On  Reading  the  Bible  i8i 

Then  are  they  glad  because  they  be  quiet ; 

So  he  bringeth  them  unto  the  haven  where  they  would  be. 
Oh  that  men  would  praise  the  Lord  for  his  goodness. 
And  for  his  wonderful  works  to  the  children  of  men/ 

Let  them  exalt  him  also  in  the  assembly  of  the  people, 

And  praise  him  in  the  seat  of  the  elders ! 


ON  READING  THE  BIBLE  (III) 

I 

jV^Y  task  to-day,  Gentlemen,  is  mainly  practical:  to 
choose  a  particular  book  of  Scripture  and  show 
(if  I  can)  not  only  that  it  deserves  to  be  enjoyed,  in  its 
EngUsh  rendering,  as  a  literary  masterpiece,  because  it 
abides  in  that  dress,  an  indisputable  classic  for  us,  as 
surely  as  if  it  had  first  been  composed  in  English;  but 
that  it  can,  for  purposes  of  study,  serve  the  purpose  of 
any  true  literary  school  of  English  as  readily,  and  as 
usefully,  as  the  Prologue  to  The  Canterbury  Tales  or 
Hamlet  or  Paradise  Lost.  I  shall  choose  The  Book  of 
Job  for  several  reasons,  presently  to  be  given;  but  beg 
you  to  understand  that,  while  taking  it  for  a  striking 
illustration,  I  use  it  but  to  illustrate;  that  what  may  be 
done  with  Job  may,  in  degree,  be  done  with  Ruth,  with 
Esther,  with  the  Psalms,  The  Song  of  Songs,  Ecclesiastes; 
with  Isaiah  of  Jerusalem,  Ezekiel,  sundry  of  the  pro- 
phets; even  with  St.  Luke's  Gospel  or  St.  Paul's  letters 
to  the  Churches. 

My  first  reason,  then,  for  choosing  Job  has  already 
been  given.  It  is  the  most  striking  illustration  to  be 
found.  Many  of  the  Psalms  touch  perfection  as  lyrical 
strains:  of  the  ecstacy  of  passion  in  love  I  suppose  The 

182 


On  Reading  the  Bible  183 

Song  of  Songs  to  express  the  very  last  word.  There 
are  chapters  of  Isaiah  that  snatch  the  very  soul  and 
ravish  it  aloft.  In  no  literature  known  to  me  are 
short  stories  told  with  such  sweet  austerity  of  art  as 
in  the  Gospel  parables — I  can  even  imagine  a  high 
and  learned  artist  in  words,  after  rejecting  them  as 
divine  on  many  grounds,  surrendering  in  the  end  to 
their  divine  artistry.  But  for  high  seriousness  com- 
bined with  architectonic  treatment  on  a  great  scale; 
for  sublimity  of  conception,  working  malleably  within 
a  structure  which  is  simple,  severe,  complete,  hav- 
ing a  beginning,  a  middle  and  an  end;  for  diction 
never  less  than  adequate,  constantly  right  and  there- 
fore not  seldom  superb,  as  theme,  thought,  and  ut- 
terance soar  up  together  and  make  one  miracle,  I  can 
name  no  single  book  of  the  Bible  to  compare  with 
Job. 

My  second  reason  is  that  the  poem,  being  brief, 
compendious  and  quite  simple  in  structure,  can  be 
handily  expounded ;  Job  is  what  Milton  precisely  called 
it,  "a  brief  model."  And  my  third  reason  (which  I 
must  not  hide)  is  that  two  writers  whom  I  mentioned 
in  my  last  lecture — Lord  Latymer  and  Professor  R.  G. 
Moulton — have  already  done  this  for  me.  A  man  who 
drives  at  practice  must  use  the  tools  other  men  have 
made,  so  he  use  them  with  due  acknowledgment;  and 
this  acknowledgment  I  pay  by  referring  you  to  Book  II 
of  Lord  Latymer's  The  Poet's  Charter,  and  to  the  analy- 
sis of  Job  with  which  Professor  Moulton  introduces  his 
Literary  Study  of  the  Bible. 


184  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

II 

But  I  have  a  fourth  reason,  out  of  which  I  might 
make  an  apparent  fifth  by  presenting  it  to  you  in  two 
different  ways.  Those  elders  of  you  who  have  followed 
certain  earlier  lectures  "On  the  Art  of  Writing"  may 
remember  that  they  set  very  little  store  upon  metre  as  a 
dividing  line  between  poetry  and  prose,  and  no  store  at 
all  upon  rhyme.  I  am  tempted  to-day  to  go  farther,  and 
to  maintain  that,  the  larger,  the  sublimer,  your  subject 
is,  the  more  impertinent  rhyme  becomes  to  it :  and  that 
this  impertinence  increases  in  a  sort  of  geometrical  pro- 
gression as  you  advance  from  monosyllabic  to  dissyllabic 
and  on  to  trisyllabic  rhyme.  Let  me  put  this  by  a  series 
of  examples. 

We  start  with  no  rhyme  at  all : 

Hail,  holy  Light,  offspring  of  Heaven  first  bom! 

Or  of  the  Eternal  coeternal  beam 

May  I  express  thee  unblamed  ?  since  God  is  light, 

And  never  but  in  unapproached  light 

Dwelt  from  eternity. 

We  feel  of  this,  as  we  feel  of  a  great  passage  in  Hamlet 
or  Lear,  that  here  is  verse  at  once  capable  of  the  highest 
sublimity  and  capable  of  sustaining  its  theme,  of  lifting 
and  lowering  it  at  will,  with  endless  resource  in  the  slide 
and  pause  of  the  caesura,  to  carry  it  on  and  on.  We  feel 
it  to  be  adequate,  too,  for  quite  plain  straightforward 
narrative,  as  in  this  passage  from  Balder  Dead: 

But  from  the  hill  of  Lidskialf  Odin  rose, 

The  throne,  from  which  his  eye  surveys  the  world; 


On  Reading  the  Bible  185 

And  mounted  Sleipner,  and  in  darkness  rode 
To  Asgard.    And  the  stars  came  out  in  heaven, 
High  over  Asgard,  to  light  home  the  King. 
But  fiercely  Odin  gallop'd,  moved  in  heart; 
And  swift  to  Asgard,  to  the  gate,  he  came. 
And  terribly  the  hoofs  of  Sleipner  rang 
Along  the  flinty  floor  of  Asgard  streets. 
And  the  Gods  trembled  on  their  golden  beds — 
Hearing  the  wrathful  Father  coming  home — 
For  dread,  for  like  a  whirlwind,  Odin  came. 
And  to  Valhalla's  gate  he  rode,  and  left 
Sleipner;  and  Sleipner  went  to  his  own  stall: 
And  in  Valhalla  Odin  laid  him  down. 

Now  of  rhyme  he  were  a  fool  who,  with  Lycidas,  or 
Gray's  Elegy,  or  certain  choruses  of  Prometheus  Un- 
bound, or  page  after  page  of  Victor  Hugo  in  his  mind, 
shoiild  assert  it  to  be  in  itself  inimical,  or  a  hindrance, 
or  even  less  than  a  help,  to  sublimity;  or  who,  with 
Dante  in  his  mind,  should  assert  it  to  be,  in  itself,  any 
bar  to  continuous  and  sustained  sublimity.  But  lan- 
guages difler  vastly  in  their  wealth  of  rhyme,  and  differ 
out  of  any  proportion  to  their  wealth  in  words :  English 
for  instance  being  infinitely  richer  than  Italian  in  vo- 
cabulary, yet  almost  ridiculously  poorer  in  dissyllabic, 
or  feminine  rhymes.  Speaking  generally,  I  should  say 
that  in  proportion  to  its  wonderful  vocabulary,  English 
is  poor  even  in  single  rhymes;  that  the  words  "love," 
"truth, "  "God, "  for  example  have  lists  of  possible  con- 
geners so  limited  that  the  mind,  hearing  the  word 
"love,"  runs  forward  to  match  it  with  "dove"  or 
' '  above ' '  or  even  with  * '  move ' ' :  and  this  gives  it  a 
sense  of  arrest,  of  listening,  of  check,  of  waiting,  which 


i86  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

alike  impedes  the  flow  of  Pope  in  imitating  Homer,  and 
of  Spenser  in  essaying  a  sublime  and  continuous  story 
of  his  own.  It  does  well  enough  to  carry  Chaucer  over 
any  gap  with  a  "forsooth  as  I  you  say"  or  "for- 
sooth as  I  you  tell " :  but  it  does  so  at  a  total  cost  of  the 
sublime.  And  this  (I  think)  was  really  at  the  back  of 
Milton's  mind  when  in  the  preface  to  Paradise  Lost  he 
championed  blank  verse  against  "the  jingling  sound  of 
like  endings." 

But  when  we  pass  from  single  rhymes  to  double,  of 
which  Dante  had  an  inexhaustible  store,  we  find  the 
English  poet  almost  a  pauper;  so  nearly  a  pauper  that 
he  has  to  achieve  each  new  rhyme  by  a  trick — which 
tricking  is  fatal  to  rapture,  alike  in  the  poet  and  the 
hearer.  Let  me  instance  a  poem  which,  planned  for 
sublimity,  keeps  tumbling  flat  upon  earth  through  the 
inherent  fault  of  the  machine — I  mean  Myers's  St.  Paul 
— a  poem  which,  finely  conceived,  pondered,  worked 
and  re- worked  upon  in  edition  after  edition,  was  from 
the  first  condemned  (to  my  mind)  by  the  technical 
bar  of  dissyllabic  rhyme  which  the  poet  unhappily 
chose.  I  take  one  of  its  most  deeply  felt  passages — 
that  of  St.  Paul  protesting  against  his  conversion 
being  taken  for  instantaneous,  wholly  accounted  for 
by  the  miraculous  vision  related  in  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles: 

Let  no  man  think  that  sudden  in  a  minute 
All  is  accomplished  and  the  work  is  done; — 

Though  with  thine  earliest  dawn  thou  shouldst  begin  it 
Scarce  were  it  ended  in  thy  setting  sun. 


On  Reading  the  Bible  187 

Oh  the  regret,  the  struggle  and  the  failing! 

Oh  the  days  desolate  and  useless  years! 
Vows  in  the  night,  so  fierce  and  unavailing! 

Stings  of  my  shame  and  passion  of  my  tears ! 

How  have  I  seen  in  Araby  Orion, 

Seen  without  seeing,  till  he  set  again. 
Known  the  night-noise  and  thunder  of  the  lion. 

Silence  and  sounds  of  the  prodigious  plain ! 

How  have  I  knelt  with  arms  of  my  aspiring 

Lifted  all  night  in  irresponsive  air. 
Dazed  and  amazed  with  overmuch  desiring. 

Blank  with  the  utter  agony  of  prayer ! 

"What,"  ye  will  say,  "and  thou  who  at  Damascus 
Sawest  the  splendour,  answeredst  the  Voice; 

So  hast  thou  suffered  and  canst  dare  to  ask  us, 
Paul  of  the  Romans,  bidding  us  rejoice?" 

You  cannot  say  I  have  instanced  a  passage  anything 
short  of  fine.  But  do  you  not  feel  that  a  man  who  is 
searching  for  a  rhyme  to  Damascus  has  not  really  the 
time  to  cry  "Abba,  father"?  Is  not  your  own  rapture 
interrupted  by  some  wonder  "How  will  he  bring  it 
off  "  ?  And  when  he  has  searched  and  contrived  to ' '  ask 
us, '  *  are  we  responsive  to  the  ecstasy  ?  Has  he  not — if  I 
may  employ  an  Oriental  trope  for  once — let  in  the  chill 
breath  of  cleverness  upon  the  garden  of  beatitude? 
No  man  can  be  clever  and  ecstatic  at  the  same  moment. ' 

As  for  triple  rhymes — rhymes  of  the  comedian  who 
had  a  lot  o*  news  with  many  curious  facts  about  the 

'  It  is  fair  to  say  that  Myers  cancelled  the  Damascus  stanza  in  his 
final  edition. 


i88  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

square  on  the  hypotenuse,  or  the  cassiowary  who  ate 
the  missionary  on  the  plains  of  Timbuctoo,  with  Bible, 
prayer-book,  hymn-book  too — they  are  for  the  facetious 
and  removed,  as  far  as  geometrical  progression  can 
remove  them,  from  any  Paradise  Lost  or  Regained. 
It  may  sound  a  genuine  note,  now  and  then : 

Alas !  for  the  rarity 
Of  Christian  charity 

Under  the  sun ! 
Oh,  it  was  pitiful ! 
Near  a  whole  city  full, 

Home  she  had  none! 

But  not  often :  and,  I  think,  never  but  in  lyric. 

Ill 

So  much,  then,  for  rhyme.  We  will  approach  the 
question  of  metre,  helped  or  unhelped  by  rhyme,  in 
another  way ;  and  a  way  yet  more  practical. 

When  Milton  (determined  to  write  a  grand  epic) 
was  casting  about  for  his  subject,  he  had  a  mind  for 
some  while,  to  attempt  the  story  of  Job.  You  may 
find  evidence  for  this  in  a  MS.  preserved  here  in  Trinity 
College  Library.  You  will  find  printed  evidence  in  a 
passage  of  his  Reason  of  Church  Government: 

"Time  serves  not  now, "  he  writes,  "and  perhaps  I  might 
seem  too  profuse  to  give  any  certain  account  of  what  the 
mind  at  home,  in  the  spacious  circuits  of  her  musing,  hath 
liberty  to  propose  to  herself,  though  of  highest  hope  and 
hardest  attempting;  whether  that  epic  form  whereof  the 


On  Reading  the  Bible  189 

two  poems  of  Homer,  and  those  other  two  of  Virgil  and 
Tasso,  are  a  diffuse,  and  the  book  of  Job  a  brief  model.  ..." 

Again,  we  know  Job  to  have  been  one  of  the  three 
stories  meditated  by  Shelley  as  themes  for  great  lyrical 
dramas,  the  other  two  being  the  madness  of  Tasso  and 
Prometheus  Unbound.  Shelley  never  abandoned  this 
idea  of  a  lyrical  drama  on  Job ;  and  if  Milton  abandoned 
the  idea  of  an  epic,  there  are  passages  in  Paradise  Lost  as 
there  are  passages  in  Prometheus  Unbound  that  might  well 
have  been  written  for  this  other  story.    Take  the  lines 

Why  am  I  mock'd  with  death,  and  lengthen'd  out 
To  deathless  pain  ?    How  gladly  would  I  meet 
Mortality  my  sentence,  and  be  earth 
Insensible !  how  glad  would  lay  me  down 
As  in  my  mother's  lap !    There  I  should  rest 
And  sleep  secure;  .  .  . 

What  is  this,  as  Lord  Latymer  asks,  but  an  echo  of 
Job's  words? — 

For  now  should  I  have  lien  down  and  been  quiet ; 
I  should  have  slept ;  then  had  I  been  at  rest : 
With  kings  and  counsellers  of  the  earth, 
Which  built  desolate  places  for  themselves  ,  .  . 
There  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling ; 
And  there  the  weary  be  at  rest. 

There  is  no  need  for  me  to  point  out  how  exactly, 
though  from  two  nearly  opposite  angles,  the  story  of 
Job  would  hit  the  philosophy  of  Milton  and  the  philo- 
sophy of  Shelley  to  the  very  heart.  What  is  the  story 
of  the  afflicted  patriarch  but  a  direct  challenge  to  a 
protestant  like  Milton  (I  use  the  word  in  its  strict 


190  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

sense)  to  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  man  ?  It  is  the  very 
purpose,  in  sum,  of  the  Book  of  Job,  as  it  is  the  very 
purpose,  in  sum,  of  Paradise  Lost:  and  since  both 
poems  can  only  work  out  the  justification  by  long 
argumentative  speeches,  both  poems  lamentably  fail  as 
real  solutions  of  the  difficulty.  To  this  I  shall  recur, 
and  here  merely  observe  that  qui  s'  excuse  s'  accuse:  a 
God  who  can  only  explain  himself  by  the  help  of  long- 
winded  scolding,  or  of  long-winded  advocacy,  though 
he  employ  an  archangel  for  advocate,  has  given  away 
the  half  of  his  case  by  the  implicit  admission  that  there 
are  two  sides  to  the  question.  And  when  we  have  put 
aside  the  poetical  ineptitude  of  a  Creator  driven  to 
apology,  it  remains  that  to  Shelley  the  Jehovah,  who, 
for  a  sort  of  wager,  allowed  Satan  to  torture  Job  merely 
for  the  game  of  testing  him,  would  be  no  better  than 
any  other  tyrant;  would  be  a  miscreant  Creator, 
abominable  as  the  Zeus  of  the  Prometheus  Unbound. 

Now  you  may  urge  that  Milton  and  Shelley  dropped 
Job  for  hero  because  both  felt  him  to  be  a  merely  static 
figure:  and  that  the  one  chose  Satan,  the  rebel  angel, 
the  other  chose  Prometheus  the  rebel  Titan,  because 
both  are  active  rebels,  and  as  epic  and  drama  require 
action,  each  of  these  heroes  makes  the  thing  move;  that 
Satan  and  Prometheus  are  not  passive  sufferers  like  Job 
but  souls  as  quick  and  fiery  as  Byron's  Lucifer: 

Souls  who  dare  use  their  immortality — 
Souls  who  dare  look  the  Omnipotent  tyrant  in 
His  everlasting  face,  and  tell  him  that 
His  evil  is  not  good. 


On  Reading  the  Bible  191 

Very  well,  urge  this :  urge  it  with  all  your  might.  All 
the  while  you  will  be  doing  just  what  I  desire  you  to  do, 
using  Job  alongside  Prometheus  Unbound  and  Paradise 
Lost  as  a  comparative  work  of  literature. 

But,  if  you  ask  me  for  my  own  opinion  why  Milton 
and  Shelley  dropped  their  intention  to  make  poems  on 
the  Book  of  Job,  it  is  that  they  no  sooner  tackled  it  than 
they  found  it  to  be  a  magnificent  poem  already,  and  a 
poem  on  which,  with  all  their  genius,  they  found  them- 
selves unable  to  improve. 

I  want  you  to  realise  a  thing  most  simple,  demon- 
strable by  five  minutes  of  practice,  yet  so  confused  by 
conventional  notions  of  what  poetry  is  that  I  dare  say 
it  to  be  equally  demonstrable  that  Milton  and  Shelley 
discovered  it  only  by  experiment.  Does  this  appear  to 
you  a  bold  thing  to  say  of  so  tremendous  an  artist  as 
Milton?  Well,  of  course  it  would  be  cruel  to  quote  in 
proof  his  paraphrases  of  Psalms  cxiv  and  cxxxvi :  to  set 
against  the  Authorised  Version's 

When  Israel  went  out  of  Egypt, 

The  house  of  Jacob  from  a  people  of  strange  language 

such  pomposity  as 

When  the  blest  seed  of  Terah's  faithful  son 
After  long  toil  their  liberty  had  won — 

or  against 

O  give  thanks  .  .  . 

To  him  that  stretched  out  the  earth  above  the  waters : 

for  his  mercy  endiureth  for  ever. 
To  him  that  made  great  lights : 

for  his  mercy  endureth  for  ever 


192  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

such  stuff  as 

Who  did  the  solid  earth  ordain 
To  rise  above  the  watery  plain; 

For  his  mercies  aye  endure, 

Ever  faithful,  ever  sure. 

Who,  by  his  all-commanding  might, 
Did  fill  the  new-made  world  with  light; 

For  his  mercies  aye  endure. 

Ever  faithful,  ever  sure — 

verses  yet  farther  weakened  by  the  late  Sir  William 
Baker  for  Hymns  Ancient  and  Modern. 

It  were  cruel,  I  say,  to  condemn  these  attempts  as 
little  above  those  of  Sternhold  and  Hopkins,  or  even  of 
those  of  Tate  and  Brady:  for  Milton  made  them  at 
fifteen  years  old,  and  he  who  afterwards  consecrated  his 
youth  to  poetry  soon  learned  to  know  better.  And  yet, 
bearing  in  mind  the  passages  in  Paradise  Lost  and 
Paradise  Regained  which  paraphrase  the  Scriptural 
narrative,  I  cannot  forbear  the  suspicion  that,  though 
as  an  artist  he  had  the  instinct  to  feel  it,  he  never  quite 
won  to  knowing  the  simple  fact  that  the  thing  had 
already  been  done  and  surpassingly  well  done :  he,  who 
did  so  much  to  liberate  poetry  from  rhyme — he — even 
he  who  in  the  grand  choruses  of  Samson  Agonistes  did 
so  much  to  liberate  it  from  strict  metre — never  quite 
realised,  being  hag-ridden  by  the  fetish  that  rides  be- 
tween two  panniers,  the  sacred  and  the  profane,  that 
this  translation  of  Joh  already  belongs  to  the  category 
of  poetry,  is  poetry,  already  above  metre,  and  in  rhythm 


On  Reading  the  Bible  193 

far  on  its  way  to  the  insurpassable.  If  rhyme  be  allowed 
to  that  greatest  of  arts,  if  metre,  is  not  rhythm  above 
both  for  her  service?  Hear  in  a  sentence  how  this 
poem  uplifts  the  rhythm  of  the  Vulgate : 

Ecce,  Deus  magnus  vincens  sapientiam;  numeros  annorum 
ejus  inestimabiles  ! 

But  hear,  in  a  longer  passage,  how  our  English  rhythm 
swings  and  sways  to  the  Hebrew  parallels : 

Surely  there  is  a  mine  for  silver, 
And  a  place  for  gold  which  they  refine. 
Iron  is  taken  out  of  the  earth, 
And  brass  is  molten  out  of  the  stone. 
Man  setteth  an  end  to  darkness, 
And  searcheth  out  to  the  furthest  bound 
The  stones  of  thick  darkness  and  of  the  shadow  of  death. 
He  breaketh  open  a  shaft  away  from  where  men  sojourn ; 
They  are  forgotten  of  the  foot  that  passeth  by; 
They  hang  afar  from  men,  they  swing  to  and  fro. 
As  for  the  earth,  out  of  it  cometh  bread: 
And  underneath  it  is  turned  up  as  it  were  by  fire 
The  stones  thereof  are  the  place  of  sapphires, 
And  it  hath  dust  of  gold. 
That  path  no  bird  of  prey  knoweth, 
Neither  hath  the  falcon's  eye  seen  it : 
The  proud  beasts  have  not  trodden  it, 
Nor  hath  the  fierce  lion  passed  thereby. 
He  putteth  forth  his  hand  upon  the  flinty  rock; 
He  overtumeth  the  mountains  by  the  roots. 
He  cutteth  out  channels  among  the  rocks ; 
And  his  eye  seeth  every  precious  thing. 
He  bindeth  the  streams  that  they  trickle  not ; 
And  the  thing  that  is  hid  bringeth  he  forth  to  light. 
But  where  shall  wisdom  be  found  ? 
13 


194  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

And  where  is  the  place  of  understanding  ? 

Man  knoweth  not  the  price  thereof; 

Neither  is  it  found  in  the  land  of  the  living. 

The  deep  saith,  It  is  not  in  me: 

And  the  sea  saith,  It  is  not  with  me. 

It  cannot  be  gotten  for  gold, 

Neither  shall  silver  be  weighed  for  the  price  thereof. 

It  cannot  be  valued  with  the  gold  of  Ophir, 

With  the  precious  onyx,  or  the  sapphire. 

Gold  and  glass  cannot  equal  it : 

Neither  shall  the  exchange  thereof  be  jewels  of  fine  gold. 

No  mention  shall  be  made  of  coral  or  of  crystal : 

Yea,  the  price  of  wisdom  is  above  rubies. 

The  topaz  of  Ethiopia  shall  not  equal  it, 

Neither  shall  it  be  valued  with  pure  gold. 

Whence  then  cometh  wisdom? 

And  where  is  the  place  of  understanding? 

Seeing  it  is  hid  from  the  eyes  of  all  living, 

And  kept  close  from  the  fowls  of  the  air. 

Destruction  and  Death  say, 

We  have  heard  a  rumour  thereof  with  our  ears. 

God  understandeth  the  way  thereof, 

And  he  knoweth  the  place  thereof. 

For  he  looketh  to  the  ends  of  the  earth, 

And  seeth  under  the  whole  heaven; 

To  make  a  weight  for  the  wind; 

Yea,  he  meteth  out  the  waters  by  measure. 

When  he  made  a  decree  for  the  rain. 

And  a  way  for  the  lightning  of  the  thunder: 

Then  did  he  see  it,  and  declare  it; 

He  established  it,  yea,  and  searched  it  out. 

And  unto  man  he  said. 

Behold,  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  that  is  wisdom; 

And  to  depart  from  evil  is  understanding. 

Is  that  poetry  ?    Surely  it  is  poetry.    Can  you  improve 
it  with  the  embellishments  of  rhyme  and  strict  scansion  ? 


On  Reading  the  Bible  195 

Well,  sundry  bold  men  have  tried,  and  I  will  choose, 
for  your  judgment,  the  rendering  of  a  part  of  the  above 
passage  by  one  who  is  by  no  means  the  worst  of  them — 
a  hardy  anonymous  Scotsman.  His  version  was  pub- 
lished at  Falkirk  in  1 869 : 

His  hand  on  the  rock  the  adventurer  puts, 
And  mountains  entire  overturns  by  the  roots; 
New  rivers  in  rocks  are  enchased  by  his  might. 
And  everything  precious  revealed  to  his  sight; 
The  floods  from  o'er-flowing  he  bindeth  at  will. 
And  the  thing  that  is  hid  bringeth  forth  by  his  skill. 

But  where  real  wisdom  is  found  can  he  shew  ? 
Or  the  place  understanding  inhabiteth  ?    No ! 
Men  know  not  the  value,  the  price  of  this  gem; 
'Tis  not  found  in  the  land  of  the  living  with  them. 
It  is  not  in  me,  saith  the  depth ;  and  the  sea 
With  the  voice  of  an  echo,  repeats,  Not  in  me. 

(I  have  a  suspicion  somehow  that  what  the  sea  really 
answered,  in  its  northern  vernacular,  was  "Me  either.") 

Whence  then  cometh  wisdom?    And  where  is  the  place 
Understanding  hath  chosen,  since  this  is  the  case?  .  .  . 

Enough!  This  not  only  shows  how  that  other  ren- 
dering can  be  spoilt  even  to  the  point  of  burlesque  by 
an  attempt,  on  preconceived  notions,  to  embellish  it 
with  metre  and  rhyme,  but  it  also  hints  that  parallel 
verse  will  actually  resent  and  abhor  such  embellishment 
even  by  the  most  skilled  hand.  Yet,  I  repeat,  our  ver- 
sion of  Job  is  poetry  undeniable.    What  follows? 

Why,  it  follows  that  in  the  course  of  studying  it  as 


196  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

literature  we  have  found  experimentally  settled  for 
us — and  on  the  side  of  freedom — a  dispute  in  which 
scores  of  eminent  critics  have  taken  sides:  a  dispute 
revived  but  yesterday  (if  we  omit  the  blank  and  devas- 
tated days  of  this  War)  by  the  writers  and  apostles 
of  vers  libres.  "Can  there  be  poetry  without  metre?" 
"Is  free  verse  a  true  poetic  form?"  Why,  our  Book  of 
Job  being  poetry,  unmistakable  poetry,  of  course  there 
can,  to  be  sure  it  is.  These  apostles  are  butting  at 
an  open  door.  Nothing  remains  for  them  but  to  go  and 
write  vers  libres  as  fine  as  those  of  Job  in  our  English 
translation.  Or  suppose  even  that  they  write  as  well 
as  M.  Paul  Fort,  they  will  yet  be  writing  ancestrally, 
not  as  innovators  but  as  renewers.  Nothing  is  done  in 
literature  by  arguing  whether  or  not  this  or  that  be 
possible  or  permissible.  The  only  way  to  prove  it 
possible  or  permissible  is  to  go  and  do  it :  and  then  you 
are  lucky  indeed  if  some  ancient  writers  have  not  fore- 
stalled you. 

IV 

Now  for  another  question  (much  argued,  you  will 
remember,  a  few  years  ago)  "Is  there — can  there  be — 
such  a  thing  as  a  Static  Theatre,  a  Static  Drama?" 

Most  of  you  (I  daresay)  remember  M.  Maeterlinck's 
definition  of  this  and  his  demand  for  it.  To  summarise 
him  roughly,  he  contends  that  the  old  drama — the 
traditional,  the  conventional  drama — ^lives  by  action; 
that,  in  Aristotle's  phrase,  it  represents  men  doing 
nparrovras  and  resolves  itself  into  a  struggle  of  human 


On  Reading  the  Bible  197 

wills — whether  against  the  gods,  as  in  ancient  tragedy, 
or  against  one  another,  as  in  modern.  M.  Maeterlinck 
tells  us — 

There  is  a  tragic  element  in  the  life  of  every  day  that  is 
far  more  real,  far  more  penetrating,  far  more  akin  to  the 
true  self  that  is  in  us,  than  is  the  tragedy  that  lies  in  great 
adventure.  ...  It  goes  beyond  the  determined  struggle 
of  man  against  man,  and  desire  against  desire;  it  goes 
beyond  the  eternal  conflict  of  duty  and  passion.  Its  pro- 
vince is  rather  to  reveal  to  us  how  truly  wonderful  is  the  mere 
act  of  living,  and  to  throw  light  upon  the  existence  of  the 
soul,  self-contained  in  the  midst  of  ever-restless  immensities; 
to  hush  the  discourse  of  reason  and  sentiment,  so  that  above 
the  tumult  may  be  heard  the  solemn  uninterrupted  whisper- 
ings of  man  and  his  destiny. 

To  the  tragic  author  [he  goes  on,  later],  as  to  the  mediocre 
painter  who  still  lingers  over  historical  pictures,  it  is  only 
the  violence  of  the  anecdote  that  appeals,  and  in  his  repre- 
sentation thereof  does  the  entire  interest  of  his  work  consist. 
.  .  .  Indeed  when  I  go  to  a  theatre,  I  feel  as  though  I  were 
spending  a  few  hours  with  my  ancestors,  who  conceived  life 
as  though  it  were  something  that  was  primitive,  arid  and 
brutal.  ...  I  am  shown  a  deceived  husband  killing  his 
wife,  a  woman  poisoning  her  lover,  a  son  avenging  his  father, 
a  father  slaughtering  his  children,  murdered  kings,  ravished 
virgins,  imprisoned  citizens — in  a  word  all  the  sublimity  of 
tradition,  but  alas  how  superficial  and  material!  Blood, 
siuiace-tears  and  death !  What  can  I  learn  from  creatures 
who  have  but  one  fixed  idea,  who  have  no  time  to  live,  for 
that  there  is  a  rival,  a  mistress,  whom  it  behoves  them  to 
put  to  death  ? 

M.  Maeterlinck  does  not  (he  says)  know  if  the  Static 
Drama  of  his  craving  be  impossible.  He  inclines  to 
think — ^instancing  some  Greek  tragedies  such  as  Pro- 


198  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

metheus  and  Choephori — that  it  already  exists.  But 
may  we  not,  out  of  the  East — the  slow,  the  stationary 
East — fetch  an  instance  more  convincing? 

V 

The  Drama  of  Job  opens  with  a  Prologue  in  the 
mouth  of  a  Narrator. 

There  was  a  man  in  the  land  of  Uz,  named  Job; 
upright,  God-fearing,  of  great  substance  in  sheep,  cattle 
and  oxen ;  blest  also  with  seven  sons  and  three  daughters. 
After  telling  of  their  family  life,  how  wholesome  it  is, 
and  pious,  and  happy — 

The  Prologue  passes  to  a  Council  held  in  Heaven. 
The  Lord  sits  there,  and  the  sons  of  God  present  them- 
selves each  from  his  province.  Enters  Satan  (whom 
we  had  better  call  the  Adversary)  from  his  sphere  of 
inspection,  the  Earth,  and  reports.  The  Lord  specially 
questions  him  concerning  Job,  pattern  of  men.  The 
Adversary  demurs.  "Doth  Job  fear  God  for  nought? 
Hast  thou  not  set  a  hedge  about  his  prosperity?  But 
put  forth  thy  hand  and  touch  all  that  he  hath,  and  he 
will  renounce  thee  to  thy  face."  The  Lord  gives  leave 
for  this  trial  to  be  made  (you  will  recall  the  opening  of 
Everyman)  : 

So,  in  the  midst  of  his  wealth,  a  messenger  came  to 
Job  and  said — 

The  oxen  were  plowing, 
and  the  asses  feeding  beside  them : 
and  the  Sabeans  fell  upon  them, 
and  took  them  away ; 


On  Reading  the  Bible  199 

yea,  they  have  slain  the  servants  with  the  edge  of  the  sword; 
and  I  only  am  escaped  alone  to  tell  thee. 

While  he  was  yet  speaking,  there  came  also  another,  and 
said. 
The  fire  of  God  is  fallen  from  heaven, 
and  hath  burned  up  the  sheep,  and  the  servants, 
and  consumed  them; 
and  I  only  am  escaped  alone  to  tell  thee. 

While  he  was  yet  speaking,  there  came  also  another,  and 
said, 
The  Chaldeans  made  three  bands, 
and  fell  upon  the  camels, 

and  have  taken  them  away, 

yea,  and  slain  the  servants  with  the  edge  of  the  sword; 

and  I  only  am  escaped  alone  to  tell  thee. 

While  he  was  yet  speaking,  there  came  also  another,  and 
said, 

Thy  sons  and  thy  daughters 
were  eating  and  drinking  wine  in  their  eldest  brother's 
house : 

and,  behold, 
there  came  a  great  wind  from  the  wilderness, 
and  smote  the  four  corners  of  the  house, 
and  it  fell  upon  the  young  men, 

and  they  are  dead; 
and  I  only  am  escaped  alone  to  tell  thee. 

Then  Job  arose,  and  rent  his  mantle,  and  shaved  his  head, 
and 
fell  down  upon  the  ground,  and  worshipped;  and  he  said. 
Naked  came  I  out  of  my  mother's  womb, 

And  naked  shall  I  return  thither: 
The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away; 
blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord. 


200  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

So  the  Adversary  is  foiled,  and  Job  has  not  renounced 
God. 

A  second  Council  is  held  in  Heaven;  and  the  Ad- 
versary, being  questioned,  has  to  admit  Job's  integrity, 
but  proposes  a  severer  test : 

Skin  for  skin,  yea,  all  that  a  man  hath  will  he  give  for  his 
life.  But  put  forth  thine  hand  now,  and  touch  his  bone  and 
his  flesh,  and  he  will  renounce  thee  to  thy  face. 

Again  leave  is  given:  and  the  Adversary  smites  Job 
with  the  most  hideous  and  loathsome  form  of  leprosy. 
His  kinsfolk  (as  we  learn  later)  have  already  begun  to 
desert  and  hold  aloof  from  him  as  a  man  marked  out 
by  God's  displeasure.  But  now  he  passes  out  from 
their  midst,  as  one  unclean  from  head  to  foot,  and 
seats  himself  on  the  ash-mound — that  is,  upon  the 
Mezbele  or  heap  of  refuse  which  accumulates  outside 
Arab  villages. 

"The  dung,"  says  Professor  Moulton,  "which  is  heaped 
upon  the  Mezbele  of  the  Hauran  villages  is  not  mixed  with 
straw,  which  in  that  warm  and  dry  land  is  not  needed  for 
litter,  and  it  comes  mostly  from  solid-hoofed  animals,  as 
the  flocks  and  oxen  are  left  over-night  in  the  grazing  places. 
It  is  carried  in  baskets  in  a  dry  state  to  this  place  .  .  .  and 
usually  burnt  once  a  month.  .  .  .  The  ashes  remain.  .  .  . 
If  the  village  has  been  inhabited  for  centuries  the  Mezbele 
reaches  a  height  far  overtopping  it.  The  winter  rains  re- 
duce it  into  a  compact  mass,  and  it  becomes  by  and  by  a 
solid  hill  of  earth.  .  .  .  The  Mezbele  serves  the  inhabit- 
ants for  a  watchtower,  and  in  the  sultry  evenings  for  a 
place  of  concourse,  because  there  is  a  current  of  air  on  the 
height.    There  all  day  long  the  children  play  about  it;  and 


On  Reading  the  Bible  201 

there  the  outcast,  who  has  been  stricken  with  some  loath- 
some malady,  and  is  not  allowed  to  enter  the  dwellings  of 
men,  lays  himself  down,  begging  an  alms  of  the  passers-by 
by  day,  and  by  night  sheltering  himself  among  the  ashes 
which  the  heat  of  the  sun  has  warmed." 

Here,  then  sits  in  his  misery  "the  forsaken  grandee" ; 
and  here  yet  another  temptation  comes  to  him — this 
time  not  expressly  allowed  by  the  Lord.  Much  foolish 
condemnation  (and,  I  may  add,  some  foolish  facetious- 
ness)  has  been  heaped  on  Job's  wife.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  she  is  not  a  wicked  woman — she  has  borne  her  part 
in  the  pious  and  happy  family  life,  now  taken  away :  she 
has  uttered  no  word  of  complaint  though  all  the  sub- 
stance be  swallowed  up  and  her  children  with  it.  But 
now  the  sight  of  her  innocent  husband  thus  helpless, 
thus  incurably  smitten,  wrings,  through  love  and 
anguish  and  indignation,  this  cry  from  her: 

Dost  thou  still  hold  fast  thine  integrity?  renounce  God, 
and  die. 

But  Job  answered,  soothing  her : 

Thou  speakest  as  one  of  the  foolish  women  speaketh. 
What?  shall  we  receive  good  at  the  hand  of  God,  and  shall 
we  not  receive  evil  ? 

So  the  second  trial  ends,  and  Job  has  sinned  not  with 
his  lips. 

But  now  comes  the  third  trial,  which  needs  no 
Council  in  Heaven  to  decree  it.  Travellers  by  the 
mound  saw  this  figure  seated  there,  patient,  uncom- 


202  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

plaining,  an  object  of  awe  even  to  the  children  who  at 
first  mocked  him;  asked  this  man's  history ;  and  hearing 
of  it,  smote  on  their  breasts,  and  made  a  token  of  it  and 
carried  the  news  into  far  countries :  until  it  reached  the 
ears  of  Job's  three  friends,  all  great  tribesmen  like  him- 
self— Eliphaz  the  Temanite,  Bildad  the  Shuhite,  and 
Zophar  the  Naamathite.  These  three  made  an  appoint- 
ment together  to  travel  and  visit  Job.  * '  And  when  they 
lifted  up  their  eyes  afar  off,  and  knew  him  not,  they 
lifted  up  their  voice  and  wept. ' '  Then  they  went  up  and 
sat  down  opposite  him  on  the  ground.  But  the  majesty 
of  suffering  is  silent : 

Here  I  and  sorrows  sit; 
Here  is  my  throne,  bid  kings  come  bow  to  it.  .  .  . 

No,  not  a  word.  .  .  .  And,  with  the  grave  courtesy 
of  Eastern  men,  they  too  are  silent : 

So  they  sat  down  with  him  upon  the  ground  seven  days 
and  seven  nights,  and  none  spake  a  word  unto  him :  for  they 
saw  that  his  grief  was  very  great. 

The  Prologue  ends.  The  scene  is  set.  After  seven 
days  of  silence  the  real  drama  opens. 


VI 


Of  the  drama  itself  I  shall  attempt  no  analysis,  re- 
ferring you  for  this  to  the  two  books  from  which  I  have 
already  quoted.  My  purpose  being  merely  to  persuade 
you  that  this  surpassing  poem  can  be  studied,  and  ought 
to  be  studied,  as  literature,  I  shall  content  myself  with 


On  Reading  the  Bible  203 

turning  it  (so  to  speak)  once  or  twice  in  my  hand  and 
glancing  one  or  two  facets  at  you. 

To  begin  with,  then,  you  will  not  have  failed  to 
notice,  in  the  setting  out  of  the  drama,  a  curious  re- 
semblance between  Job  and  the  Prometheus  of  ^schy- 
lus.  The  curtain  in  each  play  lifts  on  a  figure  solitary, 
tortured  (for  no  reason  that  seems  good  to  us)  by  a 
higher  will  which,  we  are  told,  is  God's.  The  chorus  of 
Sea-nymphs  in  the  opening  of  the  Greek  play  bears  no 
small  resemblance  in  attitude  of  mind  to  Job's  three 
friends.  When  Job  at  length  breaks  the  intolerable 
silence  with 

Let  the  day  perish  wherein  I  was  bom, 

And  the  night  which  said,  There  is  a  man  child  conceived. 

he  uses  just  such  an  outburst  as  Prometheus :  and,  as  he 
is  answered  by  his  friends,  so  the  Nymphs  at  once  ex- 
claim to  Prometheus 

Seest  thou  not  that  thou  hast  sinned  ? 

But  at  once,  for  anyone  with  a  sense  of  comparative 
literature,  is  set  up  a  comparison  between  the  persistent 
West  and  the  persistent  East;  between  the  fiery  ener- 
gising rebel  and  the  patient  victim.  Of  these  two,  both 
good,  one  will  dare  everything  to  release  mankind  from 
thrall;  the  other  will  submit,  and  justify  himself — man- 
kind too,  if  it  may  hap — by  submission. 

At  once  this  difference  is  seen  to  give  a  difference  of 
form  to  the  drama.  Our  poem  is  purely  static.  Some 
critics  can  detect  little  individuality  in  Job's  three 


204  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

friends,  to  distinguish  them.  For  my  part  I  find  Eliphaz 
more  of  a  personage  than  the  other  two ;  grander  in  the 
volume  of  his  mind,  securer  in  wisdom ;  as  I  find  Zophar 
rather  noticeably  a  mean-minded  greybeard,  and  Bildad 
a  man  of  the  stand-no-nonsense  kind.  But,  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  prefer  not  to  search  for  individuality  in  these 
men:  I  prefer  to  see  them  as  three  figures  with  eyes  of 
stone  almost  expressionless.  For  in  truth  they  are  the 
conventions,  all  through, — the  orthodox  men — ad- 
dressing Job,  the  reality ;  and  their  words  come  to  this : 

Thou  sufferest,  therefore  must  have  sinned. 
All  suffering  is,  must  be  a  judgment  upon  sin. 
Else  God  is  not  righteous. 

They  are  statuesque,  as  the  drama  is  static.  The  speeches 
follow  one  another,  rising  and  falling,  in  rise  and  fall 
magnificently  and  deliberately  eloquent.  Not  a  limb  is 
seen  to  move,  unless  it  be  when  Job  half  rises  from  the 
dust  in  sudden  scorn  of  their  conventions: 

No  doubt  but  ye  are  the  people. 
And  wisdom  shall  die  with  you ! 

or  again 

Will  ye  speak  unrighteously  for  God, 

And  talk  deceitfully  for  him  ? 
Will  ye  respect  his  person? 

Will  ye  contend  for  God? 

Yet — so  great  is  this  man,  who  has  not  renoimced  and 
will  not  renounce  God,  that  still  and  ever  he  clamours 
for  more  knowledge  of  Him.  Still  getting  no  answer, 
he  Hfts  up  his  hands  and  calls  the  great  Oath  of  Clear- 


On  Reading  the  Bible  205 

ance;  in  effect,  If  I  have  loved  gold  overmuch,  hated 
mine  enemy,  refused  the  stranger  my  tent,  truckled  to 
public  opinion : 

If  my  land  cry  out  against  me, 

And  the  furrows  thereof  weep  together; 
If  I  have  eaten  the  fruits  thereof  without  money, 
Or  have  caused  the  owners  thereof  to  lose  their  life: 
Let  thistles  grow  instead  of  wheat, 
And  cockle  instead  of  barley. 

With  a  slow  gesture  he  covers  his  face : 

The  words  of  Job  are  ended. 

VII 

They  are  ended :  even  though  at  this  point  (when  the 
debate  seems  to  be  closed)  a  young  Aramaean  Arab, 
Elihu,  who  has  been  loitering  around  and  listening  to 
the  controversy,  bursts  in  and  delivers  his  young  red- 
hot  opinions.  They  are  violent,  and  at  the  same  time 
quite  raw  and  priggish.  Job  troubles  not  to  answer :  the 
others  keep  a  chilhng  silence.  But  while  this  young 
man  rants,  pointing  skyward  now  and  again,  we  see, 
we  feel — it  is  most  wonderfully  conveyed — as  clearly 
as  if  indicated  by  successive  stage-directions,  a  terrific 
thunder-storm  gathering ;  a  thunder-storm  with  a  whirl- 
wind. It  gathers ;  it  is  upon  them ;  it  darkens  them  with 
dread  until  even  the  words  of  Elihu  dry  on  his  lips : 

If  a  man  speak,  surely  he  shall  be  swallowed  up. 

It  breaks  and  blasts  and  confounds  them;  and  out  of  it 
the  Lord  speaks. 


2o6  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Now  of  that  famous  and  marvellous  speech,  put  by 
the  poet  into  the  mouth  of  God,  we  may  say  what  may 
be  said  of  all  speeches  put  by  man  into  the  mouth  of 
God.  We  may  say,  as  of  the  speeches  of  the  Archangel 
in  Paradise  Lost  that  it  is  argument,  and  argument,  by 
its  very  nature,  admits  of  being  answered.  But,  if  to 
make  God  talk  at  all  be  anthropomorphism,  here  is 
anthropomorphism  at  its  very  best  in  its  effort  to  reach 
to  God. 

There  is  a  hush.  The  storm  clears  away;  and  in  this 
hush  the  voice  of  the  Narrator  is  heard  again,  pronouncing 
the  Epilogue.  Job  has  looked  in  the  face  of  God  and  re- 
proached him  as  a  friend  reproaches  a  friend.  Therefore 
his  captivity  was  turned,  and  his  wealth  returned  to  him, 
and  he  begat  sons  and  daughters,  and  saw  his  son's  sons 
unto  the  foiuth  generation.  So  Job  died,  being  old  and  full 
of  years. 

VIII 

Structurally  a  great  poem;  historically  a  great  poem; 
philosophically  a  great  poem;  so  rendered  for  us  in 
noble  EngHsh  diction  as  to  be  worthy  in  any  comparison 
of  diction,  structure,  ancestry,  thought!  Why  should 
we  not  study  it  in  our  English  School,  if  only  for  pur- 
pose of  comparison?  I  conclude  with  these  words  of 
Lord  Latymer: 

There  is  nothing  comparable  with  it  except  the  Prometheus 
Bound  of  .^schylus.  It  is  eternal,  illimitable  ...  its 
scope  is  the  relation  between  God  and  Man.  It  is  a  vast 
liberation,  a  great  gaol-delivery  of  the  spirit  of  Man;  nay 
rather  a  great  Acquittal. 


OF  SELECTION 


f  ET  us  hark  back,  Gentlemen,  to  our  original  pro- 
*— '  blem,  and  consider  if  our  dilatory  way  have  led  us 
to  some  glimpse  of  a  practical  solution. 

We  may  re-state  it  thus:  Assuming  it  to  be  true,  as 
men  of  Science  assure  us,  that  the  weight  of  this  planet 
remains  constant,  and  is  to-day  what  it  was  when  man- 
kind carelessly  laid  it  on  the  shoulders  of  Atlas;  that 
nothing  abides  but  it  goes,  that  nothing  goes  but  in 
some  form  or  other  it  comes  back ;  you  and  I  may  well 
indulge  a  wonder  what  reflections  upon  this  astonishing 
fact  our  University  Librarian,  Mr.  Jenkinson,  takes  to 
bed  with  him.  A  copy  of  every  book  printed  in  the 
United  Kingdom  is — or  I  had  better  say,  should  be — 
deposited  with  him.  Putting  aside  the  question  of  what 
he  has  done  to  deserve  it,  he  must  surely  wonder  at 
times  from  what  other  corners  of  the  earth  Providence 
has  been  at  pains  to  collect  and  compact  the  ingredients 
of  the  latest  new  volume  he  handles  for  a  moment  before 
fondly  committing  it  to  the  cellars. 

"Locked  up,  not  lost." 

Or,  to  take  it  in  reverse — When  the  great  library  of 
Alexandria  went  up  in  flames,  doubtless  its  ashes  awoke 

207 


2o8  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

an  appreciable  and  almost  immediate  energy  in  the 
crops  of  the  Nile  Delta.  The  more  leisurable  process  of 
desiccation,  by  which,  under  modern  storage,  the  com- 
ponents of  a  modern  novel  are  released  to  fresh  unions 
and  activities  admits,  as  Sir  Thomas  Browne  would  say, 
a  wide  solution,  and  was  just  the  question  to  tease  that 
good  man.  Can  we  not  hear  him  discussing  it  ?  "  To  be 
but  pyramidally  extant  is  a  fallacy  in  duration.  .  .  . 
To  burn  the  bones  of  the  King  of  Edom  for  lime  seems 
no  irrational  ferity:  but  to  store  the  back  volumes  of 
Mr.  Bottomley's  John  Bull  a  passionate  prodigality." 

II 

Well,  whatever  the  perplexities  of  our  Library  we 
may  be  sure  they  will  never  break  down  that  tradition 
of  service,  help,  and  courtesy  which  is,  among  its  fine 
treasures,  still  the  first.  But  we  have  seen  that  Mr.  Jen- 
kinson's  perplexities  are  really  but  a  parable  of  ours: 
that  the  question.  What  are  we  to  do  with  all  these 
books  accumulating  in  the  world  ?  really  is  a  question : 
that  their  mere  accumulation  really  does  heap  up  against 
us  a  barrier  of  such  enormous  and  brute  mass  that  the 
stream  of  human  culture  must  needs  be  choked  and 
spread  into  marsh  unless  we  contrive  to  pipe  it  through. 
That  a  great  deal  of  it  is  meant  to  help — that  even  the 
most  of  it  is  well  intentioned — avails  not  against  the 
mere  physical  obstacle  of  its  mass.  If  you  consider  an 
Athenian  gentleman  of  the  fourth  century  B.C.  connect- 
ing (as  I  always  preach  here)  his  literature  with  his  life, 
two  things  are  bound  to  strike  you :  the  first  that  he  was 


Of  Selection  209 

a  man  of  leisure,  somewhat  disdainful  of  trade  and 
relieved  of  menial  work  by  a  number  of  slaves;  the 
second,  that  he  was  surprisingly  unencumbered  with 
books.  You  will  find  in  Plato  much  about  reciters, 
actors,  poets,  rhetoricians,  pleaders,  sophists,  public 
orators,  and  refiners  of  language,  but  very  little  indeed 
about  books.  Even  the  Hbrary  of  Alexandria  grew  in  a 
time  of  decadence  and  belonged  to  an  age  not  his.  Says 
Jowett  in  the  end : 

"He  who  approaches  him  in  the  most  reverent  spirit  shall 
reap  most  of  the  fruit  of  his  wisdom;  he  who  reads  him  by 
the  light  of  ancient  commentators  will  have  the  least  under- 
standing of  him. 

"We  see  him  [Jowett  goes  on]  with  the  eye  of  the  mind  in 
the  groves  of  the  Academy,  or  on  the  banks  of  the  Ilissus,  or 
in  the  streets  of  Athens,  alone  or  walking  with  Socrates,  full 
of  those  thoughts  which  have  since  become  the  common 
possession  of  mankind.  Or  we  may  compare  him  to  a  statue 
hid  away  in  some  temple  of  Zeus  or  Apollo,  no  longer  exist- 
ing on  earth,  a  statue  which  has  a  look  as  of  the  God  himself. 
Or  we  may  once  more  imagine  him  following  in  another 
state  of  being  the  great  company  of  heaven  which  he  beheld 
of  old  in  a  vision.  So,"  partly  trifling  but  with  a  certain 
degree  of  seriousness,  "we  linger  around  the  memory  of  a 
world  which  has  passed  away." 

Yes,  "which  has  passed  away,"  and  perhaps  with  no 
token  more  evident  of  its  decease  that  the  sepulture  of 
books  that  admiring  generations  have  heaped  on  it ! 

Ill 

In  a  previous  lecture  I  referred  you  to  the  beautiful 
opening  and  the  yet  more  beautiful  close  of  the  Phaedrus. 
14 


210  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

Let  us  turn  back  and  refresh  ourselves  with  that 
Dialogue  while  we  learn  from  it,  in  somewhat  more  of 
detail,  just  what  a  book  meant  to  an  Athenian:  how 
fresh  a  thing  it  was  to  him  and  how  little  irksome. 

Phaedrus  has  spent  his  forenoon  listening  to  a  dis- 
course by  the  celebrated  rhetorician  Lysias  on  the 
subject  of  Love,  and  is  starting  to  cool  his  head  with  a 
stroll  beyond  the  walls  of  the  city,  when  he  encounters 
Socrates,  who  will  not  let  him  go  until  he  has  delivered 
up  the  speech  with  which  Lysias  regaled  him,  or,  better 
still,  the  manuscript,  "which  I  suspect  you  are  carrying 
there  in  your  left  hand  under  your  cloak."  So  they 
bend  their  way  beside  Ilissus  towards  a  tall  plane  tree, 
seen  in  the  distance.    Having  reached  it,  they  recline. 

"By  Hera,"  says  Socrates,  "a  fair  resting-place,  full  of 
summer  sounds  and  scents!  This  clearing,  with  the  agnus 
castus  in  high  bloom  and  fragrant,  and  the  stream  beneath 
the  tree  so  gratefully  cool  to  our  feet!  Judging  from  the 
ornaments  and  statues,  I  think  this  spot  must  be  sacred  to 
Achelous  and  the  Nymphs.  And  the  breeze,  how  deliciously 
charged  with  balm!  and  all  summer's  murmur  in  the  air, 
shrilled  by  the  chorus  of  the  grasshoppers !  But  the  greatest 
charm  is  this  knoll  of  turf, — positively  a  pillow  for  the  head. 
My  dear  Phaedrus,  j'ou  have  been  a  delectable  guide." 

"What  an  incomprehensible  being  you  are,  Socrates," 
returns  Phaedrus.  "When  you  are  in  the  country,  as  you 
say,  you  really  are  like  some  stranger  led  about  by  a  guide. 
Upon  my  word,  I  doubt  if  you  ever  stray  beyond  the  gates 
save  by  accident. ' ' 

"Very  true,  my  friend:  and  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  for 
the  reason — which  is,  that  I  love  knowledge,  and  my 
teachers  are  the  men  who  dwell  in  the  city,  not  the  trees  or 
country  scenes.    Yet  I  do  believe  you  have  found  a  spell  to 


Of  Selection  211 

draw  me  forth,  like  a  hungry  cow  before  whom  a  bough  or  a 
bunch  of  fruit  is  waved.  For  only  hold  up  before  me  in  like 
manner  a  book,  and  you  may  lead  me  all  round  Attica  and 
over  the  wide  world." 

So  they  recline  and  talk,  looking  aloft  through  that 
famous  pure  sky  of  Attica,  mile  upon  mile  transparent ; 
and  their  discourse  (preserved  to  us)  is  of  Love,  and 
seems  to  belong  to  that  atmosphere,  so  clear  it  is  and 
luminously  profound.  It  ends  with  the  cool  of  the  day, 
and  the  two  friends  arise  to  depart.  Socrates  looks 
about  him. 

"Should  we  not  before  going,  offer  up  a  prayer  to 
these  local  deities?" 

"By  all  means,"  Phaedrus  agrees. 

Socrates  (praying):  "Beloved  Pan,  and  all  ye  other  gods 
who  haunt  this  place,  grant  me  beauty  in  the  inward  soul, 
and  that  the  outward  and  inward  may  be  at  one!  May  I 
esteem  the  wise  to  be  the  rich;  and  may  I  myself  have  that 
quantity  of  gold  which  a  temperate  man,  and  he  only,  can 
carry.  .  .  .  Anything  more?  That  prayer,  I  think,  is 
enough  for  me." 

Phaedrus.  "Ask  the  same  for  me,  Socrates.  Friends, 
methinks  should  have  all  things  in  common." 

Socrates.     "So  be  it.  .  .  .     Let  us  go." 

Here  we  have,  as  it  seems  to  me,  a  marriage,  without 
impediment,  of  wisdom  and  beauty  between  two  minds 
that  perforce  have  small  acquaintance  with  books :  and 
yet,  with  it,  Socrates'  confession  that  anyone  with  a 
book  under  his  cloak  could  lead  him  anywhere  by  the 
nose.  So  we  see  that  Hellenic  culture  at  its  best  was 
independent  of  book-learning,  and  yet  craved  for  it. 


212  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

IV 

When  our  own  Literature  awoke,  taking  its  origin 
from  the  proud  scholarship  of  the  Renaissance,  an 
Englishman  who  affected  it  was  scarcely  more  cum- 
bered with  books  than  our  Athenian  had  been,  two 
thousand  years  before.  It  was,  and  it  remained,  aristo- 
cratic :  sparingly  expensive  of  its  culture.  It  postulated, 
if  not  a  slave  population,  at  least  a  proletariat  for  which 
its  blessings  were  not.  No  one  thought  of  making  a 
fortune  by  disseminating  his  work  in  print.  Shake- 
speare never  found  it  worth  while  to  collect  and  publish 
his  plays ;  and  a  very  small  sense  of  history  will  suffice 
to  check  our  tears  over  the  price  received  by  Milton  for 
Paradise  Lost.  We  may  wonder,  indeed,  at  the  time  it 
took  our  forefathers  to  realise — or,  at  any  rate,  to 
employ — the  energy  that  lay  in  the  printing-press.  For 
centuries  after  its  invention  mere  copying  commanded 
far  higher  prices  than  authorship.^  Writers  gave 
"authorised"  editions  to  the  world  sometimes  for  the 
sake  of  fame,  often  to /justify  themselves  against  pira- 
tical publishers,  seldom  in  expectation  of  monetary 
profit.  Listen,  for  example,  to  Sir  Thomas  Browne's 
excuse  for  publishing  Religio  Medici  (1643) : 

Had  not  almost  every  man  suffered  by  the  press  or  were 
not  the  tyrann}'-  thereof  become  universal,  I  had  not  wanted 
reason  for  complaint :  but  in  times  wherein  I  have  lived  to 
behold  the  highest  perversion  of  that  excellent  invention, 
the  name  of  his  Majesty  defamed,  the  honour  of  Parliament 
depraved,  the  writings  of  both  depravedly,  anticipatively, 

'  Charles  Reade  notes  this  in  The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth,  Chap.  LXI. 


Of  Selection  213 

counterfeitly  imprinted;  complaints  may  seem  ridiculous 
in  private  persons ;  and  men  of  my  condition  may  be  as  in- 
capable of  affronts,  as  hopeless  of  their  reparations.  And 
truly  had  not  the  duty  I  owe  unto  the  importunity  of 
friends,  and  the  allegiance  I  must  ever  acknowledge  unto 
truth,  prevailed  with  me;  the  inactivity  of  my  disposition 
might  have  made  these  sufferings  continual,  and  time  that 
brings  other  things  to  light,  should  have  satisfied  me  in  the 
remedy  of  its  oblivion.  But  because  things  evidently  false 
are  not  only  printed,  but  many  things  of  truth  most  falsely 
set  forth,  in  this  latter  I  could  not  but  think  myself  engaged. 
For  though  we  have  no  power  to  redress  the  former,  yet  in 
the  other,  the  reparation  being  within  ourselves,  I  have  at 
present  represented  unto  the  world  a  full  and  intended  copy 
of  that  piece,  which  was  most  imperfectly  and  surrepti- 
tiously published  before. 

This  I  confess,  about  seven  years  past,  with  some  others 
of  affinity  thereto,  for  my  private  exercise  and  satisfaction, 
I  had  at  leisurable  hours  composed ;  which  being  communi- 
cated unto  one,  it  became  common  unto  many,  and  was  by 
transcription  successively  corrupted,  until  it  arrived  in  a 
most  depraved  copy  at  the  press.  .  .  .  ^ 

V 

The  men  of  the  eighteenth  century  maintained  the  old 
tradition  of  literary  exclusiveness,  but  in  a  somewhat 
different  way  and  more  consciously. 

I  find,  Gentlemen,  when  you  read  with  me  in  private, 
that  nine  out  of  ten  of  you  dislike  the  eighteenth  cen- 
txiry  and  all  its  literary  works.     As  for  the  women 

'  The  loose  and  tautologous  style  of  this  Preface  is  worth  noting. 
Likely  enougb  Browne  wrote  it  in  a  passion  that  deprived  him  of  his 
habitual  self-command.  One  phrase  alone  reveals  the  true  Browne — 
that  is,  Browne  true  to  himself:  "and  time  that  brings  other  things  to 
light,  should  have  satisfied  me  in  the  remedy  of  its  oblivion. " 


214  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

students,  they  one  and  all  abominate  it.  You  do  not,  I 
regret  to  say,  provide  me  with  reasons  much  more  philo- 
sophical than  the  epigrammatist's  for  disliking  Doctor 
Fell.  May  one  whose  time  of  Hfe  excuses  perhaps  a 
detachment  from  passion  attempt  to  provide  you  with 
one?  If  so,  first  Hsten  to  this  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ham- 
mond's book  The  Village  Labourer,  1760-1832: 

A  row  of  eighteenth  century  houses,  or  a  room  of  norm- 
al eighteenth  century  furniture,  or  a  characteristic  piece  of 
eighteenth  century  literature,  conveys  at  once  a  sensation 
of  satisfaction  and  completeness.  The  secret  of  this  charm 
is  not  to  be  found  in  any  special  beauty  or  nobility  of  design 
or  expression,  but  simply  in  an  exquisite  fitness.  The 
eighteenth  centtuy  mind  was  a  unity,  an  order.  All  litera- 
ture and  art  that  really  belong  to  the  eighteenth  century 
are  the  language  of  a  little  society  of  men  and  women  who 
moved  within  one  set  of  ideas;  who  understood  each  other; 
who  were  not  tormented  by  any  anxious  or  bewildering 
problems;  who  lived  in  comfort,  and,  above  all  things,  in 
composure.  The  classics  were  their  freemasonry.  There 
was  a  standard  for  the  mind,  for  the  emotions,  for  taste: 
there  were  no  incongruities. 

When  you  have  a  society  like  this,  you  have  what  we 
roughly  call  a  civilisation,  and  it  leaves  its  character  and 
canons  in  all  its  surroundings  and  in  its  literature.  Its 
definite  ideas  lend  themselves  readily  to  expression.  A 
larger  society  seems  an  anarchy  in  contrast;  just  because 
of  its  escape  into  a  greater  world  it  seems  powerless  to  stamp 
itself  in  wood  or  stone;  it  is  condemned  as  an  age  of  chaos 
and  mutiny,  with  nothing  to  declare. 

You  do  wrong,  I  assure  you,  in  misprising  these  men 
of  the  eighteenth  century.  They  reduced  life,  to  be 
sure:  but  by  that  very  means  they  saw  it  far  more 


Of  Selection  215 

completely  than  do  we,  in  this  lyrical  age  with  our  wor- 
ship of  "fine  excess."  Here  at  any  rate,  and  to  speak 
only  of  its  literature,  you  have  a  society  fencing  that 
literature  around — I  do  not  say  by  forethought  or  even 
consciously — but  in  effect  fencing  its  literature  around, 
to  keep  it  in  control  and  capable  of  an  orderly,  a  nice, 
even  an  exquisite  cultivation.  DisHke  it  as  you  may,  I 
do  not  think  that  any  of  you,  as  he  increases  his  know- 
ledge of  the  technique  of  English  Prose,  yes,  and  of 
English  Verse  (I  do  not  say  of  English  Poetry)  will  deny 
his  admiration  to  the  men  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
The  strength  of  good  prose  resides  not  so  much  in  the 
swing  and  balance  of  the  single  sentence  as  in  the  mar- 
shalling of  argument,  the  orderly  procession  of  para- 
graphs, the  disposition  of  parts  so  that  each  finds  its 
telling,  its  proper  place;  the  adjustment  of  the  means 
to  the  end;  the  strategy  which  brings  its  full  force  into 
action  at  the  calculated  moment  and  drives  the  con- 
clusion home  upon  an  accumulated  sense  oi  justice.  I 
do  not  see  how  any  student  of  eighteenth  century  litera- 
ture can  deny  its  writers — Berkeley  or  Hume  or  Gibbon 
— Congreve  or  Sheridan — Pope  or  Cowper — Addison  or 
Steele  or  Johnson — Burke  or  Chatham  or  Thomas 
Payne — their  meed  for  this,  or,  if  he  be  an  artist,  even 
his  homage. 

But  it  remains  true,  as  your  instinct  tells  you,  and  as 
I  have  admitted,  that  they  achieved  all  this  by  help  of 
narrow  and  artificial  boundaries.  Of  several  fatal  ex- 
clusions let  me  name  but  two. 

In  the  first  place,  they  excluded  the  Poor;  imitating 


2i6  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

in  a  late  age  the  Athenian  tradition  of  a  small  poUte 
society  resting  on  a  large  and  degraded  one.  Through- 
out the  eighteenth  century — and  the  great  Whig  families 
were  at  least  as  much  to  blame  for  this  as  the  Tories — 
by  enclosure  of  commons,  by  grants,  by  handling  of  the 
franchise,  by  taxation,  by  poor  laws  in  result  punitive 
though  intended  to  be  palliative,  the  English  peasantry 
underwent  a  steady  process  of  degradation  into  serfdom ; 
into  a  serfdom  which,  during  the  first  twenty  years  of 
the  next  century,  hung  constantly  and  precariously  on 
the  edge  of  actual  starvation.  The  whole  theory  of 
culture  worked  upon  a  principle  of  double  restriction; 
of  restricting  on  the  one  hand  the  realm  of  polite 
knowledge  to  propositions  suitable  for  a  scholar  and 
a  gentleman:  and,  on  the  other,  the  niimbers  of  the 
human  family  permitted  to  be  either.  The  theory 
deprecated  enthusiasm,  as  it  discountenanced  all  am- 
bition in  a  poor  child  to  rise  above  what  Sir  Spencer 
Walpole  called  "his  inevitable  and  hereditary  lot" — 
to  soften  which  and  make  him  acquiescent  in  it  was, 
with  a  Wilberforce  or  a  Hannah  More,  the  last  dream 
of  restless  benevolence. 


VI 


Also  these  eighteenth  century  men  fenced  off  the 
whole  of  our  own  Middle  English  and  mediaeval  Utera- 
ture — fenced  off  Chaucer  and  Dunbar,  Malory  and 
Bemers — as  barbarous  and  "Gothic."  They  treated 
these  writers  with  little  more  consideration  than  Boileau 


Of  Selection  217 

had  thought  it  worth  while  to  bestow  on  Villon  or  on 
Ronsard — enfin  Malherbe!  As  for  Anglo-Saxon  litera- 
ture, one  may  safely  say  that,  save  by  Gray  and  a  very 
few  others,  its  existence  was  barely  surmised. 

You  may  or  may  not  find  it  harder  to  forgive  them 
that  they  ruled  out  moreover  a  great  part  of  the  litera- 
ture of  the  preceding  century  as  offensive  to  urbane 
taste  or  as  they  would  say,  ' '  disgusting. ' '  They  disliked 
it  mainly,  one  suspects,  as  one  age  revolts  from  the 
fashion  of  another — as  some  of  you,  for  example,  revolt 
from  the  broad  plenty  of  Dickens  (Heaven  forgive  you) 
or  the  ornament  of  Tennyson.  Some  of  the  great 
writers  of  that  age  definitely  excluded  God  from  their 
scheme  of  things:  others  included  God  fiercely,  but  with 
circumscription  and  limitation.  I  think  it  fair  to  say  of 
them  generally  that  they  hated  alike  the  mystical  and 
the  mysterious,  and,  hating  these,  could  have  little 
commerce  with  such  poetry  as  Crashaw's  and  Vaughan's 
or  such  speculation  as  gave  ardour  to  the  prose  of  the 
Cambridge  Platonists.  Johnson's  famous  attack,  in  his 
Life  of  Cowley,  upon  the  metaphysical  followers  of 
Donne  ostensibly  assails  their  literary  conceits,  but 
truly  and  at  bottom  rests  its  quarrel  against  an  attitude 
of  mind,  in  respect  of  which  he  Hved  far  enough  removed 
to  be  unsympathetic  yet  near  enough  to  take  denuncia- 
tion for  a  duty.  Johnson,  to  put  it  vulgarly,  had  as 
little  use  for  Vaughan's  notion  of  poetry  as  he  would 
have  had  for  Shelley's  claim  that  it 

feeds  on  the  aereal  kisses 
Of  shapes  that  haunt  thought's  wildernesses, 


2i8  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

and  we  have  only  to  set  ourselves  back  in  Shelley's  age 
and  read  (say)  the  verse  of  Frere  and  Canning  in  The 
A  nti- Jacobin,  to  understand  how  frantic  a  lyrist — let 
be  how  frantic  a  political  figure — Shelley  must  have 
appeared  to  well  regulated  minds. 


VII 


All  this  literature  which  our  forefathers  excluded  has 
come  back  upon  us:  and  concurrently  we  have  to  deal 
with  the  more  serious  difficulty  (let  us  give  thanks  for  it) 
of  a  multitude  of  millions  insurgent  to  handsel  their 
long-def  erred  heritage.  I  shall  waste  no  time  in  arguing 
that  we  ought  not  to  wish  to  withhold  it,  because  we 
cannot  if  we  would.  And  thus  the  problem  becomes 
a  double  one,  of  distribution  as  well  as  of  selection. 

Now  in  the  first  place  I  submit  that  this  distribution 
should  be  free :  which  implies  that  our  selection  must  be 
confined  to  books  and  methods  of  teaching.  There  must 
be  no  picking  and  choosing  among  the  recipients,  no 
appropriation  of  certain  forms  of  culture  to  certain 
"stations  of  life"  with  a  tendency,  conscious  or  uncon- 
scious, to  keep  those  stations  as  stationary  as  possible. 

Merely  by  clearing  our  purpose  to  this  extent  we  shall 
have  made  no  inconsiderable  advance.  For  even  the 
last  century  never  quite  got  rid  of  its  predecessor's  fixed 
idea  that  certain  degrees  of  culture  were  appropriate 
to  certain  stations  of  life.  With  what  gentle  persistence 
it  prevails,  for  example,  in  Jane  Austen's  novels;  with 
what  complacent  rhetoric  in  Tennyson  (and  in  spite  of 


Of  Selection  219 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere) !  Let  me  remind  you  that  by 
allowing  an  idea  to  take  hold  of  our  animosity  we  may 
be  as  truly  "possessed"  by  it  as  though  it  claimed  our 
allegiance.  The  notion  that  culture  may  be  drilled  to 
march  in  step  with  a  trade  or  calling  endured  through 
the  Victorian  age  of  competition  and  possessed  the  mind 
not  only  of  Samuel  Smiles  who  taught  by  instances  how 
a  bright  and  industrious  boy  might  earn  money  and 
lift  himself  out  of  his  "station,  "  but  of  Ruskin  himself, 
who  in  the  first  half  of  Sesame  and  Lilies,  in  the  lecture 
Of  Kings  Treasuries,  discussing  the  choice  of  books, 
starts  vehemently  and  proceeds  at  length  to  denounce 
the  prevalent  passion  for  self-advancement — of  rising 
above  one's  station  in  life — quite  as  if  it  were  the  most 
important  thing,  willy-nilly,  in  talking  of  the  choice  of 
books.  Which  means  that,  to  Ruskin,  just  then,  it 
was  the  most  formidable  obstacle.  Can  we,  at  this  time 
of  day,  do  better  by  simply  turning  the  notion  out  of 
doors?    Yes,  I  believe  that  we  can :  and  upon  this  credo: 

I  believe  that  while  it  may  grow — and  grow  infinitely — 
with  increase  oj  learning,  the  grace  of  a  liberal  education, 
like  the  grace  of  Christianity,  is  so  catholic  a  thing — so 
absolutely  above  being  trafficked,  retailed,  apportioned, 
among  ''stations  in  life'' — that  the  humblest  child  may 
claim  it  by  indefensible  right,  having  a  soul. 

Further,  I  believe  that  Humanism  is,  or  should  be,  no 
decorative  appanage,  purchased  late  in  the  process  of  educa- 
tion within  the  means  of  a  few:  but  a  quality,  rather,  which 
should,  and  can,  condition  all  teaching,  from  a  child's  first 
lesson  in  Reading:  that  its  unmistakable  hall-mark  can  be 


220  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

impressed  upon  the  earliest  task  set  in  an  Elementary 
School. 

VIII 

I  am  not  preaching  red  Radicalism  in  this :  I  am  not 
telling  you  that  Jack  is  as  good  as  his  master :  if  he  were, 
he  would  be  a  great  deal  better;  for  he  would  under- 
stand Homer  (say)  as  well  as  his  master,  the  child  of 
parents  who  could  afford  to  have  him  taught  Greek. 
As  Greek  is  commonly  taught,  I  regret  to  say,  whether 
they  have  learnt  it  or  not  makes  a  distressingly  small 
difference  to  most  boys'  appreciation  of  Homer.  Still 
it  does  make  a  vast  difference  to  some,  and  should  make 
a  vast  difference  to  all.  And  yet,  if  you  will  read  the 
passage  in  Kinglake's  Eothen  in  which  he  tells — in  words 
that  find  their  echo  in  many  a  reader's  memory — of  his 
boyish  passion  for  Homer — and  if  you  will  note  that  the 
boy  imbibed  his  passion,  after  all,  through  the  conduit 
of  Pope's  translation — you  will  acknowledge  that,  for 
the  human  boy,  admission  to  much  of  the  glory  of 
Homer's  realm  does  not  depend  upon  such  mastery  as  a 
boy  of  fifteen  or  sixteen  possesses  over  the  original.  But 
let  me  quote  you  a  few  sentences : 

I,  too,  loved  Homer,  but  not  with  a  scholar's  love.  The 
most  humble  and  pious  among  women  was  yet  so  proud  a 
mother  that  she  could  teach  her  first-bom  son  no  Watts's 
hymns,  no  collects  for  the  day;  she  could  teach  him  in  ear- 
liest childhood  no  less  than  this — to  find  a  home  in  his  saddle, 
and  to  love  old  Homer,  and  all  that  old  Homer  sung.  True,  it 
is,  that  the  Greek  was  ingeniously  rendered  into  English, 


Of  Selection  221 

the  English  of  Pope  even,  but  not  even  a  mesh  like  that  can 
screen  an  earnest  child  from  the  fire  of  Homer's  battles. 

I  pored  over  the  Odyssey  as  over  a  story-book,  hoping  and 
fearing  for  the  hero  whom  yet  I  partly  scorned.  But  the 
Iliad — line  by  line  I  clasped  it  to  my  brain  with  reverence 
as  well  as  with  love.  .  .  . 

The  impatient  child  is  not  grubbing  for  beauties,  but 
pushing  the  siege;  the  women  vex  him  with  their  delays,  and 
their  talking,  .  .  .  but  all  the  while  that  he  thus  chafes  at 
the  pausing  of  the  action,  the  strong  vertical  light  of  Homer's 
poetry  is  blazing  so  full  upon  the  people  and  things  of  the 
Iliad,  that  soon  to  the  eyes  of  the  child  they  grow  familiar 
as  his  mother's  shawl.  .  .  . 

It  was  not  the  recollection  of  school  nor  college  learning, 
but  the  rapturous  and  earnest  reading  of  my  childhood, 
which  made  me  bend  forward  so  longingly  to  the  plains  of 
Troy. 

IX 

It  is  among  the  books  then,  and  not  among  the 
readers,  that  we  must  do  our  selecting.  But  how?  On 
what  principle  or  principles? 

Sometime  in  the  days  of  my  youth,  a  newspaper.  The 
Pall  Mall  Gazette,  then  conducted  by  W.  T.  Stead, 
made  a  conscious  effort  to  solve  the  riddle  by  inviting  a 
number  of  eminent  men  to  compile  lists  of  the  Hundred 
Best  Books.  Now  this  invitation  rested  on  a  fallacy. 
Considering  for  a  moment  how  personal  a  thing  is 
Literature,  you  will  promptly  assure  yourselves  that 
there  is — there  can  be — no  such  thing  as  the  Hundred 
Best  Books.  If  you  yet  incline  to  toy  with  the  notion, 
carry  it  on  and  compile  a  list  of  the  Hundred  Second- 
best  Books:  nay,  if  you  will,  continue  until  you  find 


222  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

yourself  solemnly,  with  a  brow  corrugated  by  responsi- 
bility, weighing  the  claims  (say)  of  Velleius  Paterculus, 
Paul  and  Virginia  and  Mr.  Jorrocks  to  admission  among 
the  Hundred  Tenth-best  Books.  There  is  in  fact  no 
positive  hierarchy  among  the  classics.  You  cannot 
appraise  the  worth  of  Charles  Lamb  against  the  worth 
of  Casaubon :  the  worth  of  Hesiod  against  the  worth  of 
Madame  de  Sevigne:  the  worth  of  Theophile  Gautier 
against  the  worth  of  Dante  or  Thomas  Hobbes  or 
Macchiavelli  or  Jane  Austen.  They  all  wrote  with  pens, 
in  ink,  upon  paper:  but  you  no  sooner  pass  beyond  these 
resemblances  than  your  comparison  finds  itself  working 
in  imparl  materia. 

Also  why  should  the  Best  Books  be  lOO  in  number, 
rather  than  99  or  199?  And  under  what  conditions  is 
a  book  a  Best  Book?  There  are  moods  in  which  we  not 
only  prefer  Pickwick  to  the  Rig-Vedas  or  Sakuntala, 
but  find  that  it  does  us  more  good.  In  our  day  again  I 
pay  all  respect  to  Messrs.  Dent's  Everyw.an's  Library. 
It  was  a  large  conception  carefully  planned.  But,  in  the 
nature  of  things,  Everyman  is  going  to  arrive  at  a  point 
beyond  which  he  will  find  it  more  and  more  difficult  to 
recognise  himself :  at  a  point,  let  us  say,  when  Every- 
man, opening  a  new  parcel,  starts  to  doubt  if,  after  all, 
it  wouldn't  be  money  in  his  pocket  to  be  Somebody 
Else. 

X 

And  yet,  may  be,  The  Pall  Mall  Gazette  was  on  the 
right  scent.    For  it  was  in  search  of  masterpieces :  and, 


Of  Selection  223 

however  we  teach,  our  trust  will  in  the  end  repose  upon 
masterpieces,  upon  the  great  classics  of  whatever 
Language  or  Literature  we  are  handling:  and  these,  in 
any  language  are  neither  enormous  in  number  and  mass, 
nor  extraordinarily  difficult  to  detect,  nor  (best  of  all) 
forbidding  to  the  reader  by  reason  of  their  own  difficulty. 
Upon  a  selected  few  of  these — even  upon  three,  or  two, 
or  one — we  may  teach  at  least  a  surmise  of  the  true 
deHght,  and  may  be  some  measure  of  taste  whereby  our 
pupil  will,  by  an  inner  guide,  be  warned  to  choose  the 
better  and  reject  the  worse  when  we  turn  him  loose  to 
read  for  himself. 

To  this  use  of  masterpieces  I  shall  devote  my  final 
lecture. 


ON  THE  USE  OF  MASTERPIECES 


f  DO  not  think,  Gentlemen,  that  we  need  to  bother 
oiirselves  to-day  with  any  definition  of  a  "classic," 
or  of  the  stigmata  by  which  a  true  classic  can  be  recog- 
nised. Sainte-Beuve  once  indicated  these  in  a  famous 
discourse,  Qu'est-ce  qu'un  classigue:  and  it  may  suffice  us 
that  these  include  Universality  and  Permanence.  Your 
true  classic  is  universal,  in  that  it  appeals  to  the  catholic 
mind  of  man.  It  is  doubly  permanent:  for  it  remains 
significant,  or  acquires  a  new  significance,  after  the  age 
for  which  it  was  written,  and  the  conditions  under 
which  it  was  written  have  passed  away;  and  it  yet 
keeps,  undefaced  by  handling,  the  original  noble  im- 
print of  the  mind  that  first  minted  it — or  shall  we  say 
that,  as  generation  after  generation  rings  the  coin,  it 
ever  returns  the  echo  of  its  father-spirit  ? 

But  for  our  purpose  it  suffices  that  in  our  literature 
we  possess  a  number  ot  works  to  which  the  title  of 
classic  cannot  be  refused.  So  let  us  confine  ourselves  to 
these,  and  to  the  question,  How  to  use  them? 

II 

Well,  to  begin  with,  I  revert  to  a  point  which  I  tried 
to  establish  in  my  first  lecture;  and  insist  with  all  my 

224 


On  the  Use  of  Masterpieces       225 

strength  that  the  first  obligation  we  owe  to  any  classic, 
and  to  those  whom  we  teach,  and  to  ourselves,  is  to 
treat  it  absolutely:  not  for  any  secondary  or  derivative 
purpose,  or  purpose  recommended  as  useful  by  any 
manual:  but  at  first  solely  to  interpret  the  meaning 
which  its  author  intended :  that  in  short  we  should  trust 
any  given  masterpiece  for  its  operation,  on  ourselves 
and  on  others.  In  that  first  lecture  I  quoted  to  you  this 
most  wise  sentence : 

That  all  spirit  is  mutually  attractive,  as  all  matter  is  ulti- 
mately attractive,  is  an  ultimate  fact, 

and  consenting  to  this  with  all  my  heart  I  say  that  it 
matters  very  little  for  the  moment,  or  even  for  a  con- 
siderable while,  that  a  pupil  does  not  perfectly,  or  even 
nearly,  understand  all  he  reads,  provided  we  can  get  the 
attraction  to  seize  upon  him.  He  and  the  author 
between  them  will  do  the  rest:  our  function  is  to  com- 
municate and  trust.  In  what  other  way  do  children  take 
the  ineffaceable  stamp  of  a  gentle  nurture  than  by  daily 
attraction  to  whatsoever  is  beautiful  and  amiable  and 
dignified  in  their  home?  As  there,  so  in  their  reading, 
the  process  must  be  gradual  of  acquiring  an  inbred 
monitor  to  reject  the  evil  and  choose  the  good.  For  it 
is  the  property  of  master p-^eces  that  they  not  only  raise 
you  to 

despise  low  Joys,  low  Gains; 
Disdain  whatever  Combury  disdains : 

they  are  not  only  as  Lamb  wrote  of  the  Plays  of  Shake- 
speare ' '  enrichers  of  the  fancy,  strengtheners  of  virtue, 

IS 


226  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

a  withdrawing  from  all  selfish  and  mercenary  thoughts, 
a  lesson  of  all  sweet  and  honourable  thoughts  and 
actions,  to  teach  you  courtesy,  benignity,  generosity, 
humanity";  but  they  raise  your  gorge  to  defend  you 
from  swallowing  the  fifth-rate,  the  sham,  the  fraudu- 
lent. Abeunt  studia  in  mores.  I  cannot,  for  my  part 
conceive  a  man  who  has  once  incorporated  the  Phaedo 
or  the  Paradiso  or  Lear  in  himself  as  lending  himself 
for  a  moment  to  one  or  other  of  the  follies  plastered  in 
these  late  stern  times  upon  the  firm  and  most  solid 
purpose  of  this  nation — the  inanities,  let  us  say,  of  a 
Baby-Week.  Or,  for  a  more  damnable  instance,  I  think 
of  you  and  me  with  Marvell's  great  Horatian  Ode  sunk 
in  our  minds,  standing  to-day  by  the  statue  of  Charles  I 
that  looks  down  Whitehall:  telling  ourselves  of  "that 
memorable  scene"  before  the  Banqueting  House,  re- 
membering amid  old  woes  all  the  glory  of  our  blood  and 
state,  recollecting  what  is  due  even  to  ourselves,  stand- 
ing on  the  greatest  site  of  our  capital,  and  turning  to 
see  it  degraded  as  it  has  been  for  a  week,  to  a  vulgar 
raree-show.  Gentlemen,  I  could  read  you  many  poor 
ill- written  letters  from  mothers  whose  sons  have  died  for 
England,  to  prove  to  you  we  have  not  deserved  that,  or 
the  sort  of  placard  with  which  London  has  been  plastered, 

Dum  domus  Aeneae  Capitoli  immobile  saxum 
Accolet. 

Great  enterprises  (as  we  know)  and  little  minds  go  ill 
together.  Someone  veiled  the  statue.  That,  at  least, 
was  well  done. 


On  the  Use  of  Masterpieces        '^'^i 

I  have  not  the  information — nor  do  I  want  it — to 
make  even  a  guess  who  was  responsible  for  tliis  par- 
ticular outrage.  I  know  the  sort  of  man  well  enough 
to  venture  that  he  never  had  a  liberal  education,  and, 
further,  that  he  is  probably  rather  proud  of  it.  But  he 
may  nevertheless  own  some  instinct  of  primitive  kind- 
liness :  and  I  wish  he  could  know  how  he  afflicts  men  of 
sensitiveness  who  have  sons  at  the  War. 


Ill 


Secondly,  let  us  consider  what  use  we  can  make  of 
even  one  selected  classic.  I  refer  you  back  to  the  work 
of  an  old  schoolmaster,  quoted  in  my  first  lecture : 

I  believe,  if  the  truth  were  known,  men  would  be  as- 
tonished at  the  small  amount  of  learning  with  which  a  high 
degree  of  culture  is  compatible.  In  a  moment  of  enthusiasm 
I  ventured  once  to  tell  my  "English  set"  that  if  they  could 
really  master  the  ninth  book  of  Paradise  Lost,  so  as  to  rise 
to  the  height  of  its  great  argument  and  incorporate  all  its 
beauties  in  themselves,  they  would  at  one  blow,  by  virtue 
of  that  alone,  become  highly  cultivated  men.  .  .  .  More 
and  more  various  learning  might  raise  them  to  the  same 
height  by  different  paths,  but  could  hardly  raise  them 
higher. 

I  beg  your  attention  for  the  exact  words:  "to  rise 
to  the  height  of  its  great  argument  and  incorporate 
all  its  beauties  in  themselves y  There  you  have  it — "to 
incorporate. ' '  Do  you  remember  that  saying  of  "Words- 
worth's, casually  dropped  in  conversation,  but  pre- 
served for  us  by  Hazlitt? — "It  is  in  the  highest  degree 


228  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

unphilosophic  to  call  language  or  diction  the  dress  of 
our  thoughts.  ...  It  is  the  incarnation  of  our 
thoughts."  Even  so,  I  maintain  to  you,  the  first  busi- 
ness of  a  learner  in  literature  is  to  get  complete  hold  of 
some  undeniable  masterpiece  and  incorporate  it,  in- 
carnate it.  And,  I  repeat,  there  are  a  few  great  works 
for  you  to  choose  from:  works  approved  for  you  by 
ancient  and  catholic  judgment. 


IV 


But  let  us  take  something  far  simpler  than  the  Ninth 
Book  of  Paradise  Lost  and  more  direct  than  any  trans- 
lated masterpiece  can  be  in  its  appeal;  something  of 
high  genius,  written  in  our  mother  tongue.  Let  us  take 
The  Tempest. 
Of  The  Tempest  we  may  say  confidently : 
(i)  that  it  is  a  literary  masterpiece:  the  last  most 
perfect ' '  fruit  of  the  noblest  tree  in  our  English  Forest ' ' ; 

(2)  that  its  story  is  quite  simple;  intelligible  to  a 
child :  (its  basis  in  fact  is  fairy-tale,  pure  and  simple — 
as  I  tried  to  show  in  a  previous  lecture) ; 

(3)  that  in  reading  it — or  in  reading  Hamlet,  for  that 
matter — the  child  has  no  sense  at  all  of  being  patronised, 
of  being  ' '  written  down  to. ' '  And  this  has  the  strongest 
bearing  on  my  argument.  The  great  authors,  as  Emer- 
son says,  never  condescend.  Shakespeare  himself 
speaks  to  a  slip  of  a  boy,  and  that  boy  feels  that  he  is 
Ferdinand ; 

(4)  that,  though  Shakespeare  uses  his  loftiest,  most 


On  the  Use  of  Masterpieces       229 

accomplished  and,  in  a  sense,  his  most  difficult  lan- 
guage: a  way  of  talking  it  has  cost  him  a  life-time  to 
acquire,  in  line  upon  line  inviting  the  scholar's,  pro- 
sodist's,  poet's  most  careful  study;  that  language  is  no 
bar  to  the  child's  enjoyment :  but  rather  casts  about  the 
whole  play  an  aura  of  magnificence  which,  with  the 
assistant  harmonies,  doubles  and  redoubles  the  speU. 
A  child  no  more  resents  this  because  it  is  strange  than  he 
objects  to  read  in  a  fairy-tale  of  robbers  concealed  in  oil- 
jars  or  of  diamonds  big  as  a  roc's  egg.  When  will  our 
educators  see  that  what  a  child  depends  on  is  imagina- 
tion, that  what  he  demands  of  life  is  the  wonderful,  the 
glittering,  possibility  ? 

Now  if,  putting  all  this  together  and  taking  confi- 
dence from  it,  we  boldly  launch  a  child  upon  The 
Tempest  we  shall  come  sooner  or  later  upon  passages 
that  we  have  arrived  at  finding  difficult.  We  shall  come, 
for  example,  to  the  Masque  of  Iris,  which  Iris,  invoking 
Ceres,  thus  opens : 

Ceres,  most  bounteous  lady,  thy  rich  leas 

Of  wheat,  rye,  barley,  vetches,  oats  and  pease; 

Thy  turfy  mountains,  where  live  nibbling  sheep. 

And  flat  meads  thatch'd  with  stover,  them  to  keep; 

Thy  banks  with  pion^d  and  twilled  brims, 

Which  spongy  April  at  thy  hest  betrims 

To  make  cold  nymphs  chaste  crowns ;  and  thy  broom  groves 

Whose  shadow  the  dismissed  bachelor  loves, 

Being  lass-lorn;  thy  pole-clipt  vineyard; 

And  thy  sea-marge,  sterile  and  rocky  hard 

Where  thou  thyself  dost  air;  the  Queen  o'  the  sky 

Whose  watery  arch  and  messenger  am  I, 

Bids  thee  leave  these.  .  .  . 


230  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

The  passage  is  undeniably  hard  for  any  child,  even 
when  you  have  paused  to  explain  who  Ceres  is,  who 
Iris,  who  the  Queen  o'  the  sky,  and  what  Iris  means  by 
calling  herself  "her  watery  arch  and  messenger."  The 
grammatical  structure  not  only  stands  on  its  head  but 
maintains  that  posture  for  an  extravagant  while. 
Naturally  (or  rather  let  us  say,  ordinarily)  it  would  run, 
"Ceres,  the  Queen  o'  the  sky  bids  thee  leave — thy  rich 
leas,  etc."  But,  the  lines  being  twelve-and-a-half  in 
number,  we  get  no  hint  of  there  being  any  grammatical 
subject  until  it  bursts  on  us  in  the  second  half  of  line 
eleven,  while  the  two  main  verbs  and  the  object  of  one 
of  them  yet  linger  to  be  exploded  in  the  last  half -line, 
* '  Bids  thee  leave  these. ' '  And  this  again  is  as  nothing  to 
the  difficulties  of  interpretation.  ' '  Dismissed  bachelor 
may  be  easy;  "pole-clipt  vineyard"  is  certainly  not,  at 
first  sight.  "To  make  cold  nymphs  chaste  crowns." 
V/hat  cold  nymphs  ?  You  have  to  v.- ait  for  another  fifty 
odd  hnes  before  being  quite  sure  that  Shakespeare 
means  Naiads  (and  "V/hat  are  Naiads?"  says  the  child) 
— ' '  temperate  nymphs ' ' : 

You  nymphs,  called  Naiades,  of  the  wandering  brooks 
With  your  sedg'd  crowns 

— and  if  the  child  demand  what  is  meant  by  "pioned 
and  twilled  brims,"  you  have  to  answer  him  that 
nobody  knov^^s. 

These  difficulties — perhaps  for  you,  certainly  for 
the  yoimg  reader  or  listener — are  reserved  delights.  My 
old    schoolmaster    even    indulges    this    suspicion — "I 


On  the  Use  of  Masterpieces       231 

never  can  persuade  myself  that  Shakespeare  would  have 
passed  high  in  a  Civil  Service  Examination  on  one  of  his 
own  plays."  At  any  rate  you  don't  begin  with  these 
difficulties:  you  don't  (or  I  hope  you  don't)  read  the 
notes  first:  since,  as  Bacon  puts  it,  "Studies  teach  not 
their  own  use." 

As  for  the  child,  he  is  not  "grubbing  for  beauties"; 
he  magnificently  ignores  what  he  cannot  for  the  moment 
understand,  being  intent  on  What  Is,  the  heart  and 
secret  of  the  adventure.  He  is  Ferdinand  (I  repeat)  and 
the  isle  is  "ftill  of  voices."  If  these  voices  were  all  in- 
telligible, why,  then,  as  Browning  would  say,  "the  less 
Island  it." 


I  have  purposely  exhibited  The  Tempest  at  its  least 
tractable.  Who  will  deny  that  as  a  whole  it  can  be  made 
intelligible  even  to  very  young  children  by  the  simple 
process  of  reading  it  with  them  intelligently  ?  or  that  the 
mysteries  such  a  reading  leaves  unexplained  are  of  the 
sort  to  fascinate  a  child's  mind  and  allure  it  ?  But  if  this 
be  granted,  I  have  established  my  contention  that  the 
Humanities  should  not  be  treated  as  a  mere  crown  and 
ornament  of  education;  that  they  should  inform  every 
part  of  it,  from  the  beginning,  in  every  school  of  the 
realm :  that  whether  a  child  have  more  education  or  less 
education,  what  he  has  can  be,  and  should  be  a  "Uberal 
education"  throughout. 

Matthew  Arnold,  as  everyone  knows,  used  to  preach 


232  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

the  use  of  these  masterpieces  as  prophylactics  of  taste. 
I  would  I  could  make  you  feel  that  they  are  even  more 
necessary  to  us. 

The  reason  why? — The  reason  is  that  every  child 
born  in  these  Islands  is  born  into  a  democracy  which, 
apart  from  home  affairs,  stands  committed  to  a  high 
responsibility  for  the  future  welfare  and  good  gover- 
nance of  Europe.  For  three  centuries  or  so  it  has  held 
rule  over  vast  stretches  of  the  earth's  surface  and  many 
millions  of  strange  peoples:  while  its  obligations 
towards  the  general  civilisation  of  Europe,  if  not  inter- 
mittent, have  been  tightened  or  relaxed,  now  here,  now 
there,  by  policy,  by  commerce,  by  dynastic  alliances,  by 
sudden  revulsions  or  sympathies.  But  this  War  will 
leave  us  bound  to  Europe  as  we  never  have  been :  and, 
whether  we  like  it  or  not,  no  less  inextricably  bound  to 
foe  than  to  friend.  Therefore,  I  say,  it  has  become 
important,  and  in  a  far  higher  degree  than  it  ever  was 
before  the  War,  that  our  countrymen  grow  up  with  a 
sense  of  what  I  may  call  the  soul  of  Europe.  And 
nowhere  but  in  literature  (which  is  "memorable 
speech") — or  at  any  rate,  nowhere  so  well  as  in  litera- 
ture— can  they  find  this  sense. 


VI 


There  was,  as  we  have  seen,  a  time  in  Europe,  ex- 
tending over  many  centuries,  when  mankind  dwelt 
under  the  preoccupation  of  making  literature,  and  still 
making  more  of  it.     The  fourth  century  B.C.  in  Athens 


On  the  Use  of  Masterpieces        233 

was  such  a  time ;  and  if  you  will  you  may  envy,  as  we  all 
admire,  the  men  of  an  age  when  to  write  at  all  was 
tantamount  to  asserting  genius;  the  men  who,  in 
Newman's  words,  "deserve  to  be  Classics,  both  because 
of  what  they  do  and  because  they  can  do  it."  If  you 
envy — while  you  envy — at  least  remember  that  these 
things  often  paid  their  price;  that  the  Phaedo,  for  ex- 
ample, was  bought  for  us  by  the  death  of  Socrates.  Pass 
Athens  and  come  to  Alexandria :  still  men  are  accumu- 
lating books  and  the  material  for  books;  threshing  out 
the  classics  into  commentaries  and  grammars,  garner- 
ing books  in  great  libraries. 

There  follows  an  age  which  interrupts  this  hive-Hke 
labour  with  sudden  and  insensate  destruction.  German 
tribes  from  the  north,  Turkish  from  the  east,  break  in 
upon  the  granaries  and  send  up  literature  in  flames ;  the 
Christian  Fathers  from  Tertullian  to  Gregory  the  Great 
(I  regret  to  say)  either  heartily  assisting  or  at  least 
warming  their  benedictory  hands  at  the  blaze:  and  so 
thoroughly  they  do  their  work  that  even  the  writings  of 
Aristotle,  the  Philosopher,  must  wait  for  centuries  as 
"things  silently  gone  out  of  mind  or  things  violently 
destroyed"  (to  borrow  Wordsworth's  fine  phrase)  and 
creep  back  into  Europe  bit  by  bit,  imder  cover  of  Arabic 
translations. 

The  scholars  set  to  work  and  begin  rebuilding: 
patient,  indefatigable,  anonymous  as  the  coral  insects  at 
work  on  a  Pacific  atoll — building,  building,  until  on 
the  near  side  of  the  gulf  we  call  the  Dark  Age,  islets 
of  scholarship  lift  themselves  above  the  waters:  mere 


234  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

specks  at  first,  but  ridges  appear  and  connect  them :  and, 
to  first  seeming,  sterile  enough : 

Nee  Cereri  opportuna  seges,  nee  commoda  Baccho — 

but  as  they  join  and  become  a  terra  firma,  a  thin  soil 
gathers  on  them  God  knows  whence:  and,  God  knows 
whence,  the  seed  is  brought,  "it  may  chance  of  wheat, 
or  of  some  other  grain. "  There  is  a  price,  again,  for  this 
resurrection :  but  how  nobly,  how  blithely  paid  you  may 
learn,  without  seeking  recondite  examples,  from  Cuth- 
bert's  famous  letter  describing  the  death  of  Bede. 
Compare  that  story  with  that  of  the  last  conversation 
of  Socrates ;  and  you  will  surely  recognise  that  the  two 
men  are  brothers  born  out  of  time;  that  Bede's  work 
has  been  a  legacy;  that  his  life  has  been  given  to  re- 
creating— not  scholarship  merely  nor  literature  merely 
— but,  through  them  both,  something  above  them 
both — the  soul  of  Europe.  And  this  may  or  may  not 
lead  you  on  to  reflect  that  beyond  our  present  passions, 
and  beyond  this  War,  in  a  common  sanit};^  Europe  (and 
America  with  her)  will  have  to  discover  that  common 
soul  again. 

But  eminent  spirits  such  as  Bede's  are,  by  their  very 
eminence,  less  representative  of  the  process — essentially 
fugitive  and  self-abnegatory — than  the  thousands  of 
copyists  who  have  left  no  name  behind  them.  Let  me 
read  you  a  short  paragraph  from  The  Cambridge  History 
oj  English  Literature,  Chapter  II,  written,  the  other  day, 
by  one  of  our  own  teachers: 


On  the  Use  of  Masterpieces       235 

The  cloister  was  the  centre  of  life  in  the  monastery,  and  in 
the  cloister  was  the  workshop  of  the  patient  scribe.  It  is 
hard  to  realise  that  the  fair  and  seemly  handwriting  of  these 
manuscripts  was  executed  by  fingers  which,  on  winter  days, 
when  the  wind  howled  through  the  cloisters,  must  have  been 
nimabed  by  icy  cold.  It  is  true  that,  occasionally,  little 
carrels  or  studies  in  the  recesses  of  the  windows  were 
screened  off  from  the  main  walk  of  the  cloister,  and,  some- 
times, a  small  room  or  cell  would  be  partitioned  off  for  the 
use  of  a  single  scribe.  The  room  would  then  be  called  the 
Scriptorium,  but  it  is  unlikely  that  any  save  the  oldest  and 
most  learned  of  the  community  were  afforded  this  luxury. 
In  these  scriptoria  of  various  kinds  the  earliest  annals 
and  chronicles  in  the  English  language  were  penned, 
in  the  beautiful  and  painstaking  forms  in  which  we  know 
them. 

If  you  seek  testimony,  here  are  the  ipsissima  verba  of 
a  poor  monk  of  Wessobrunn   endorsed  upon  his  MS: 

The  book  which  you  now  see  was  written  in  the  outer 
seats  of  the  cloister.  While  I  wrote  I  froze:  and  what  I 
could  not  write  by  the  beams  of  day  I  finished  by  candle- 
light. 

We  might  profitably  spend — but  to-day  cannot  spare 
— a  while  upon  the  pains  these  men  of  the  IVIiddle  Ages 
took  to  accumulate  books  and  to  keep  them.  The 
chained  volumes  in  old  libraries,  for  example,  might 
give  us  a  text  for  this  as  well  as  start  us  speculating  why 
it  is  that,  to  this  day,  the  human  conscience  incurably 
declines  to  include  books  with  other  portable  property 
covered  by  the  Eighth  Commandment.  Or  we  might 
foUow  several  of  the  early  scholars  and  humanists  in 


236  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

their  passionate  chasings  across  Europe,  in  and  out  of 
obscure  monasteries,  to  recover  the  lost  MSS.  of  the 
classics:  might  tell,  for  instance,  of  Pope  Nicholas  V, 
whose  birth-name  was  Tommaso  ParentucelH,  and  how 
he  rescued  the  MSS.  from  Constantinople  and  founded 
the  Vatican  Library:  or  of  Aurispa  of  Sicily  who  col- 
lected two  hundred  and  thirty-eight  for  Florence :  or  the 
story  of  the  editio  princeps  of  the  Greek  text  of  Homer. 
Or  we  might  dwell  on  the  awaking  of  our  literature, 
and  the  trend  given  to  it,  by  men  of  the  Italian  and 
French  renaissance;  or  on  the  residence  of  Erasmus 
here,  in  this  University,  with  its  results. 


VII 


But  I  have  said  enough  to  make  it  clear  that,  as  we 
owe  so  much  of  our  best  to  understanding  Europe,  so 
the  need  to  understand  Europe  lies  urgently  to-day  upon 
large  classes  in  this  country;  and  that  yet,  in  the  nature 
of  things,  these  classes  can  never  enjoy  such  leisure  as 
our  forefathers  enjoyed  to  understand  what  I  call  the 
soul  of  Europe,  or  at  least  to  misunderstand  it  upon 
acquaintance. 

Let  me  point  out  further  that  within  the  last  few 
months  we  have  doubled  the  difficulty  at  a  stroke  by 
sharing  the  government  of  our  country  with  women  and 
admitting  them  to  Parliament.  It  beseems  a  great 
nation  to  take  great  risks :  to  dare  them  is  at  once  a  sign 
and  a  property  of  greatness :  and  for  good  or  ill — but  for 
limitless  good  as  we  trust — our  country  has  quietly 


On  the  Use  of  Masterpieces       237 

made  this  enterprise  amid  the  preoccupations  of  the 
greatest  War  in  its  annals.  Look  at  it  as  you  will — let 
other  generations  judge  it  as  they  will — it  stands  a 
monument  of  our  faith  in  free  self-government  that  in 
these  most  perilous  days  we  gave  and  took  so  high  a 
guerdon  of  trust  in  one  another. 

But  clearly  it  implies  that  all  the  women  of  this 
country,  down  to  the  small  girls  entering  our  elemen- 
tary schools,  must  be  taught  a  great  many  things  their 
mothers  and  grandmothers — happy  in  their  generation 
— were  content  not  to  know.^ 

It  cannot  be  denied,  I  think,  that  in  the  long  course  of 
this  War,  now  [November,  1 91 8]  happily  on  the  point  of  a 
victorious  conclusion,  we  have  suffered  heavily  through 
past  neglect  and  present  nescience  of  our  Hterature,  which 

'  "Well!  .  .  .  my  education  is  at  last  fmished:  indeed  it  would  be 
strange,  if,  after  five  years'  hard  application,  anything  were  left  incom- 
plete. Happily  that  is  all  over  now;  and  I  have  nothing  to  do,  but  to 
exercise  my  various  accompHshments. 

"Let  me  see! — as  to  French,  I  am  mistress  of  that,  and  speak  it,  if 
possible,  with  more  fluency  than  English.  ItaHan  I  can  read  with  ease, 
and  pronounce  very  well:  as  well  at  least,  and  better,  than  any  of  my 
friends ;  and  that  is  all  one  need  wish  for  in  Itahan.  Music  I  have  learned 
till  I  am  perfectly  sick  of  it.  But  ...  it  wiU  be  delightful  to  play 
when  we  have  company.  I  must  still  continue  to  practise  a  little; — 
the  only  thing,  I  think,  that  I  need  now  to  improve  myself  in.  And 
then  there  are  my  Italian  songs!  which  everybody  allows  I  sing  with 
taste,  and  as  it  is  what  so  few  people  can  pretend  to,  I  am  particularly 
glad  that  I  can. 

"My  drawings  are  universally  admired;  especially  the  shells  and 
flowers;  which  are  beautiful,  certainly;  besides  this,  I  have  a  decided 
taste  in  all  kinds  of  fancy  ornaments. 

"And  then  my  dancing  and  waltzing!  in  which  our  master  himself 
owned  that  he  could  take  me  no  further! — just  the  figure  for  it  certainly; 
it  would  be  unpardonable  if  I  did  not  excel. 

"As  to  common  things,  geography,  and  history,  and  poetry,  and 
philosophy,  thank  my  stars,  I  have  got  through  them  all!  so  that  I  may 


238  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

is  so  much  more  Eiiropean,  so  much  more  cathoHc,  a 
thing  than  either  our  poHtical  or  our  national  religion : 
that  largely  by  reason  of  this  neglect  and  this  nescience 
our  statesmen  have  again  and  again  failed  to  foresee  how 
continental  nations  would  act  through  failing  to  under- 
stand their  minds ;  and  have  almost  invariably,  through 
this  lack  of  sympathetic  understanding,  failed  to  inter- 
pret us  to  foreign  friend  or  foe,  even  when  (and  it  was 
not  often)  they  interpreted  us  to  ourselves.  I  note  that 
America — a  coimtry  with  no  comparable  separate 
tradition  of  literature — has  customarily  chosen  men 
distinguished  by  the  grace  of  letters  for  ambassadors 
to  the  Court  of  St.  James — Motley,  Lowell,  Hay,  Page, 
in  our  time :  and  has  for  her  President  a  man  of  letters — 
and  a  Professor  at  that ! — whereas,  even  in  these  critical 
days,  Great  Britain,  having  a  most  noble  cause  and 
at  least  half-a-hundred  writers  and  speakers  capable 
of  presenting  it  with  dignity  and  so  clearly  that  no 
neutral  nation  could  mistake  its  logic,  has  by  preference 
entrusted  it  to  stunt  journalists  and  film-artistes.  If  in 
these  later  days  you  have  lacked  a  voice  to  interpret 
you  in  the  great  accent  of  a  Chatham,  the  cause  Hes  in 
past  indifference  to  that  literary  tradition  which  is  by  no 
means  the  least  among  the  glories  of  our  birth  and  state. 


consider  myself  not  only  perfectly  accomplished,  but  also  thoroughly 
well-informed. 

"Well,  to  be  sure,  how  much  have  I  fagged  through — ;  the  only 
wonder  is  that  one  head  can  contain  it  all. " 

I  found  this  in  a  Httle  book  Thoughts  of  Divines  and  Philosophers, 
selected  by  Basil  Montagu.  The  quotation  is  signed  "J,  T. "  I  cannot 
trace  it,  but  suspect  Jane  Taylor. 


On  the  Use  of  Masterpieces       239 

VIII 

Masterpieces,  then,  will  serve  us  as  prophylactics  of 
taste,  even  frojncMJdhoodTanT^nTielp  us,  tufther,  to 
interpret  the,  mmmnn  TninHjTf_riyi1isqtir>n  But  they 
have  a  third  and  yet  nobler  use.  They  teach  us  to  lift 
our  own  souls. 

For  witness  to  this  and  to  the  way  of  it  I  am  going  to 
call  an  old  writer  for  whom,  be  it  whim  or  not,  I  have 
an  almost  eighteenth  century  reverence — Longinus. 
No  one  exactly  knows  who  he  was ;  although  it  is  usual 
to  identify  him  with  that  Longinus  who  philosophised  in 
the  court  of  the  Queen  Zenobia  and  was  by  her,  in  her 
downfall,  handed  over  with  her  other  counsellors  to  be- 
executed  by  Aurelian :  though  again,  as  is  usual,  certain 
bold  bad  men  affirm  that,  whether  he  was  this  Longinus 
or  not,  the  treatise  of  which  I  speak  was  not  written  by 
any  Longinus  at  all  but  by  someone  with  a  different 
name,  with  which  they  are  unacquainted.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  somebody  wrote  the  treatise  and  its  first  editor, 
Francis  Robertello  of  Basle,  in  1554  called  him  Diony- 
sius  Longinus;  and  so  shall  I,  and  have  done  with  it, 
careless  that  other  MSS.  than  that  used  by  Robertello, 
speak  of  Dionysius  or  Longinus.  Dionysius  Longinus, 
then,  in  the  third  century  B.C. — some  say  in  the  first:  it 
is  no  great  matter — wrote  a  little  book  IIEPI  'Twer's 
commonly  cited  as  Longinus  on  the  Sublime.  The  title 
is  handy,  but  quite  misleading,  unless  you  remember 
that  by  "Sublimity"  Longinus  meant,  as  he  expressly 
defines  it,    "a  certain   distinction  and   excellence  in 


240  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

speech. ' '  The  book,  thus  recovered,  had  great  authority 
with  critics  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries. 
For  the  last  hundred  years  it  has  quite  undeservedly 
gone  out  of  vogue. 

It  is  (I  admit)  a  puzzling  book,  though  quite  clear 
in  argument  and  language:  pellucidly  clear,  but  here 
and  there  strangely  modern,  even  hauntingly  modern,  if 
the  phrase  may  be  allowed.  You  find  yourself  rubbing 
your  eyes  over  a  passage  more  Uke  Matthew  Arnold 
than  something  of  the  third  century :  or  you  come  with- 
out warning  on  a  few  lines  of  "comparative  criticism," 
as  we  call  it — an  illustration  from  Genesis- — ' '  God  said, 
Let  there  be  Light,  and  there  was  Light"  used  for  a 
specimen  of  the  exalted  way  of  saying  things.  Gener- 
ally, you  have  a  sense  that  this  author's  hneage  is  mys- 
terious after  the  fashion  of  Melchisedek's. 

Well,  to  our  point — Longinus  finds  that  the  con- 
ditions of  lofty  utterance  are  five :  of  which  the  first  is 
by  far  the  most  important.  And  this  foremost  condi- 
tion is  innate :  you  either  have  it  or  you  have  not.  Here 
it  is: 

"Elsewhere,"  says  Longinus,  "I  have  written  as  follows: 
'  Sublimity  is  the  echo  of  a  great  soul. '  Hence  even  a  bare 
idea  sometimes,  by  itself  and  without  a  spoken  word  will 
excite  admiration,  just  because  of  the  greatness  of  soul 
implied.  Thus  the  silence  of  Ajax  in  the  imderworld  is  great 
and  more  sublime  than  words." 

You  remember  the  passage,  how  Odysseus  meets  that 
great  spirit  among  the  shades  and  would  placate  it. 


On  the  Use  of  Masterpieces       241 

would  "make  up"  their  quarrel  on  earth  now,  with 
cameying  words : 

"  Ajax,  son  of  noble  Telamon,  wilt  thou  not  then,  even  in 
death  forget  thine  anger  against  me  over  that  cursed  armour. 
.  .  .  Nay,  there  is  none  other  to  blame  but  Zeus :  he  laid 
thy  doom  on  thee.  Nay,  come  hither,  O  my  lord,  and  hear 
me  and  master  thine  indignation." 

So  I  spake,  but  he  answered  me  not  a  word,  but  strode 
from  me  into  the  Darkness,  following  the  others  of  the  dead 
that  be  departed. 

Longinus  goes  on : 

It  is  by  all  means  necessary  to  point  this  out — that  the 
truly  eloquent  must  be  free  from  base  and  ignoble  (or  ill- 
bred)  thoughts.  For  it  is  not  possible  that  men  who  live 
their  lives  with  mean  and  servile  aims  and  ideas  should 
produce  what  is  admirable  and  worthy  of  immortality. 
Great  accents  we  expect  to  fall  from  the  lips  of  those  whose 
thoughts  are  dignified. 

Believe  this  and  it  surely  follows,  as  concave  implies 
convex,  that  by  daily  converse  and  association  with 
these  great  ones  we  take  their  breeding,  their  manners, 
earn  their  magnanimity,  make  ours  their  gifts  of 
courtesy,  unselfishness,  mansuetude,  high-seated  pride, 
scorn  of  pettiness,  wholesome  plentiful  jovial  laughter. 

He  that  of  such  a  height  hath  built  his  mind, 
And  rear'd  the  dwelling  of  his  soul  so  strong 
As  neither  fear  nor  hope  can  shake  the  frame 

Of  his  resolved  powers,  nor  all  the  wind 
Of  vanity  or  malice  pierce  to  wrong 
His  settled  peace,  or  to  disturb  the  same; 
16 


242  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

What  a  fair  seat  hath  he,  from  whence  he  may 
The  boundless  wastes  and  wilds  of  man  survey ! 

And  with  how  free  an  eye  doth  he  look  down 
Upon  these  lower  regions  of  turmoil ! 
Where  all  the  storms  of  passions  mainly  beat 
On  flesh  and  blood;  where  honour,  power,  renown, 
Are  only  gay  afflictions,  golden  toil; 
Where  greatness  stands  upon  as  feeble  feet 
As  frailty  doth ;  and  only  great  doth  seem 
To  little  minds,  who  do  it  so  esteem.  .  .  . 

Knowing  the  heart  of  man  is  set  to  be 

The  centre  of  this  world,  about  the  which 
These  revolutions  of  disturbances 
Still  roll;  where  all  th'  aspects  of  miser> 
Predominate;  whose  strong  effects  are  such 
As  he  must  bear,  being  powerless  to  redress; 
And  that,  unless  above  himself  he  can 
Erect  himself,  how  poor  a  thing  is  man ! 


IX 

If  the  exhortation  of  these  verses  be  somewhat  too 
high  and  stoical  for  you,  let  me  return  to  Longinus  and 
read  you,  from  his  concluding  chapter,  a  passage  you 
may  find  not  inapposite  to  these  times,  nor  without  a 
moral : 

"  It  remains "  [he  says]  "to  clear  up,  my  dear  Terentianus, 
a  question  which  a  certain  philosopher  has  recently  mooted. 
I  wonder,"  he  says,  "as  no  doubt  do  many  others,  how  it 
happens  that  in  our  time  there  are  men  who  have  the  gift 
of  persuasion  to  the  utmost  extent,  and  are  well  fitted  for 
public  life,  and  are  keen  and  ready,  and  particularly  rich 

'  Samuel  Daniel,  Epistle  to  the  Lady  Margaret,  Countess  oj  Cumberland. 


On  the  Use  of  Masterpieces       243 

in  all  the  charms  of  language,  yet  there  no  longer  arise 
really  lofty  and  transcendent  natures  unless  it  be  quite  per- 
adventure.  So  great  and  world-wide  a  dearth  of  high  utter- 
ance attends  our  age.  Can  it  be,  "  he  continued,  "we  are  to 
accept  the  common  cant  that  democracy  is  the  nursing 
mother  of  genius,  and  that  great  men  of  letters  flourish  and 
die  with  it?  For  freedom,  they  say,  has  the  power  to 
cherish  and  encourage  magnanimous  minds,  and  with 
disseminated  eager  mutual  rivalry  and  the  emulous  thirst 
to  excel.  Moreover,  by  the  prizes  open  under  a  popular 
government,  the  mental  faculties  of  orators  are  perpetually 
practised  and  whetted,  and  as  it  were,  rubbed  bright,  so 
that  they  shine  free  as  the  state  itself.  Whereas  to-day," 
he  went  on,  "'we  seem  to  have  learnt  as  an  infant-lesson 
that  servitude  is  the  law  of  life;  being  all  wrapped,  while  our 
thoughts  are  yet  young  and  tender,  in  observances  and 
customs  as  in  swaddling  clothes,  bound  without  access  to 
that  fairest  and  most  fertile  source  of  man's  speech  (I  mean 
Freedom)  so  that  we  are  turned  out  in  no  other  guise  than 
that  of  servile  flatterers.  And  servitude  (it  has  been  well 
said)  though  it  be  even  righteous,  is  the  cage  of  the  soul  and 
a  public  prison-house." 

But  I  answered  him  thus. — "It  is  easy,  my  good  sir,  and 
characteristic  of  human  nature,  to  gird  at  the  age  in  which 
one  lives.  Yet  consider  whether  it  may  not  be  true  that  it  is 
less  the  world's  peace  that  ruins  noble  nature  than  this  war 
illimitable  which  holds  our  aspirations  in  its  fist,  and  occu- 
pies our  age  with  passions  as  with  troops  that  utterly  plun- 
der and  harry  it.  The  love  of  money  and  the  love  of  pleas- 
ure enslave  us,  or  rather,  as  one  may  say,  drown  us  body  and 
soul  in  their  depths.  For  vast  and  unchecked  wealth 
marches  with  lust  of  pleasure  for  comrade,  and  when  one 
opens  the  gate  of  house  or  city,  the  other  at  once  enters  and 
abides.  And  in  time  these  two  build  nests  in  the  hearts  of 
men,  and  quickly  rear  a  progeny  only  too  legitimate :  and 
the  ruin  within  the  man  is  gradually  consummated  as  the 
sublimities  of  his  soul  wither  away  and  fade,  and  in  ecstatic 


244  On  the  Art  of  Reading 

contemplation  of  our  mortal  parts  we  omit  to  exalt,  and 
come  to  neglect  in  nonchalance,  that  within  us  which  is 
immortal. " 

I  had  a  friend  once  who,  being  in  doubt  with  what 
picture  to  decorate  the  chimney-piece  in  his  library,  cast 
away  choice  and  wrote  up  two  Greek  words —  WTXH2 
UATPEION;  that  is,  the  hospital — the  healing-place — 
of  the  soul. 


INDEX 


Acts  of  (he  Apostles,  The,  i86,  187 

Addison,  Joseph,  164,  215 

Adonais,  Shelley's,  89 

Adrian  VI,  Pope,  86 

^schylus,  I,  135,  203,  206 

^sop  and  Rhodope,  Lander's,  131 

Agamemnon,  The,  88 

Aims  of  Literary  Study,  The,  7 

Allegro,  L\  69,  70,  71 

Ameipsias,  23 

Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  Burton's, 

175 
Ancient  Mariner,  The,  66 
Andersen,  Hans  Christian,  52 
Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle,  The,  174 
Annual  Register,  The,  174 
Anti-Jacobin,  The,  218 
Apologia,  Newman's,  175 
Arabian  Nights,  M.  Gulland's,  48 
Arabian  Nights,  The,  156 
Arber,  iii 

Aristophanes,  23,  165 
Aristotle,  i,  28,  54,  57,  58,  65,  67, 

135, 144,  167,  169,  196,  233 
Arnold,  Matthew,  43,   112,   118, 

139,  172,  173,  231,240 
Arraignment  of  Paris,  Peek's,  89 
As  You  Like  It,  79 
Aulnoy,  Madame  D',  48 
Aurispa,  236 
Austen,  Jane,  115,  218,  222 


B 


Bacon,  Francis,  24,  25,26,81, 106, 

141,  174,231 
Bagehot,  Walter,  40,  127 
Bailey,  Philip  James,  175 
Baker,  Sir  William,  192 
Balder  Dead,  184,  185 
Ballad,  The,  61 
Barbour,  John,  174 


Bede,  234 

Beethoven,  147 

Beginnings  of  Poetry,  Dr.  Gum- 
mere's,  61,  62,  64,  65 

Beowulf,  112 

Berkeley,  George,  215 

Bemers,  216 

Bible,  The,  109,  141  et  seq. 

Bible,  Geneva,  The,  175 

Blackwood's  Magazine,  89 

Blair,  Robert,  175 

Blake,  William,  37,  174 

Boileau,  216 

Bologna,  University  of,  82 

Book  of  Nonsense,  Lear's,  124 

Boswell,  James,  105,  174 

Bottomley,  Horatio,  208 

Brady,  Nicholas,  192 

Brooke,  Stopford,  106 

Brown,  Dr.  John,  63 

Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  164,  208, 
212, 213 

Browning,  Elizabeth  Barrett,  80 

Browning,  Robert,  5,  7,  17,  171, 

174.231 
Bruce,  The,  Barbour  s,  174 
Bunyan,  John,  109,  150,  151,  164, 

X72 
Burke,  Edmund,   106,   117,   130, 

175-215 
Burns,  Robert,  109,  148 
Burton,  Robert,  175 
Butcher,  Professor,  144 
Byron,  Lord,  5,  89,  190 


Cabinet  des  Fees,  Le,  48 

Cambridge  Essays  on  Education, 
Inge's  essay  in,  125 

Cambridge  History  of  English  Lit- 
erature, The,  5,  171,  234 

Cambridge  Platonists,  The,  32, 
217 


245 


246 


Index 


Cambridge,  University  of,  1,2  et 
seq.,  64,  85,  86, 98, 99, 1 19, 136, 
236 

Campbell,  John,  174 
Canning,  218 

Canterbury  Tales,  The,  79,  182 
Canterbury  Tales,  The  Prologue  to 

the,  79 
Canton,  William,  43 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  5,  43,  1 19 
Casaubon, 78, 222 
Centuries  of  Meditations,  Thomas 

Traheme's,  49 
Chatham,  Earl  of,  129,  130,  131, 

215,238 
Chaucer,  4,  30,  73,  74,  79,  99,  106, 

115,  117,  119,  139,  162,  186, 

216 
Chicago,     University  of,  173 
Choephori,  198 
Chronicles,  Book  of,  155 
Clarendon,  Lord,  1 74 
Clark,  William  George,  106,  iii 
Cloister    and    the    Hearth,     The, 

Charles  Reade's,  212 
Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor,  73 
Collins,  William,  139 
Colvin,  Sir  Sidney,  97 
Complaint  of  Deor,  The,  175 
Comte,  Auguste,  58 
Congreve,  William,  215 
Cor intia,  from  Athens,  to  Tanagra, 

Landor's,  139-140 
Corinthians,  St.  Paul's  First  Epis- 
tle to  the,  91,  92 
Corson,  Dr.,  7,  74,  112 
Cory,  William  (Johnson),  139 
Cotter's     Saturday     Night,     The, 

Bums's,  148,  157 
Coverdale,  Miles,  109,  163,  179 
Cowper,  William,  112,  129,  215 
Cranmer,  Thomas,  109 
Crashaw,  Richard,  217 
Cuthbert,  234 
CyrQno  de  Bergerac,  124 


D 


Daniel,  Samuel,  242 

Dante,  30,  89,  117,  172,  185,  186, 

222 
Darwin,  Charles,  174 
Davenant,  Sir  William,  170 
Death  in  the  Desert,  A ,  Browning's, 

7 
Descent  of  Man,  Darwin  s,  174 


Deserted  Village,  The,  175 

Dickens,  Charles,  5,  217 

Dionysius,  239 

Divina  Commedia,  58 

Doctor's  Tale,  The,  79 

Dolores,  Swinburne's,  175 

Domesday  Book,  174 

Don  Quixote,  118 

Donne,  John,  92,   loi,  119,  129, 

^    175.217 

Dream  of  Boccaccio,  Landor's,  92 

Dryden,  John,  60 

Dublin,  University  of,  146 

Dunbar,  William,  216 

Dutch  Republic,  Motley's,  92 


E 


Earle,  John,  50,  n  i 

Ecclesiastes,  182 

Ecclesiastical  Polity,  Richard 
Hooker's,  174 

Ecclesiasticus,  162 

Education,  39  et  seq. 

Ehrenreich,  Dr.  Paul,  61 

Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Church- 
yard, Gray's,  68,  162,  185 

Eliot,  George,  15 

Ellis,  A.  J.,  Ill 

Elyot,  Sir  Thomas,  13 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  36,  37, 
228 

Eothen,  Kinglake's,  220,  221 

Epistle  to  the  Lady  Margaret,  Coun- 
tess of  Cumberland,  Samuel 
Daniel's,  241,  242 

Erasmus,  136,  236 

Erster  Schulgang,  43 

Esmond,  Thackeray's,  92,  93 

Essay  on  Comedy,  Meredith's,  123 

Essay  on  Man,  Pope's,  162 

Essays,  Bacon's,  128,  174 

Esther,  182 

Ethics,  The,  Aristotle,  i 

Euclid,  105,  147 

Euripides,  22,  23,  138,  177 

Everyman,  198 

Everyman's  Library,  222 

Ezekiel,  182 


Faerie  Queene,  The,  174 
Fairchild  Family,  The,  45 
Festus,  Bailey's,  175 
FitzGerald,  Edward,  132, 136, 174 


Index 


247 


Fort,  Paul,  196 

Fowler,  F.  G.,  121 

Fowler,  H.  W.,  121 

Franklin,  Benjamin,  10 1 

Frere,  J.  H.,  218 

Friar's  Tale,  The,  79 

Friendship's    Garland,    Matthew 

Arnold's,  43 
Froissart,  174 
Fumivall,  iii 


Galileo,  30 

Gammer  Grethel,  48 

Gautier,  Th^ophile,  222 

Genesis,  Book  of,  240 

Geneva  Bible,  The,  175 

Gibbon,  Edward,  22,  23,  135,  146, 
164,  167,  215 

Golden  Treasury,  Palgrave's,  174 

Goldsmith,  Oliver,  115,  119 

Gorboduc,  Sir  William  Dave- 
nant's,  170 

Grammarian's  Funeral,  A,  Brown- 
ing's, 17 

Grave,  Robert  Blair's,  175 

Gray,  Thomas,  68,  162,  185 

Gregory  the  Great,  233 

Grimm,  the  brothers,  48 

Grocyn, 136 

Grosart,  Alexander  Balloch,  iil 

Gulland,  M.,  48 

Gummere,  Dr.,  61,  62,  63,  64,  65 


H 


Hakluyt,  Richard,  174 

Hales,  Dr.,  11 1,  112 

Hamerton,  Philip  Gilbert,  3,  13, 

26 
Hamlet,  78,  142,  162,  182,  184,  228 
Hammond,  Mr.,  214 
Hammond,  Mrs.,  214 
Hay,  238 

Hazlitt,  William,  227 
Hegel,  28 

Heidelberg,  University  of,  85 
Here  Come  Three  Dukes  a-riding, 

59 
Here  we  go  Gathering  Nuts  in  May, 

59 
Herodotus,  138 
Hesiod,  222 
Hobbes,  Thomas,  222 
Hoknes,  Mr.,  53,  56,  57,  58 


Homer,  93, 133,  165, 166, 167, 168, 
169,  172,  186,  189,  220 

Hooker,  Richard,  174 

Hopkins,  John,  192 

Horace,  i 

Hound  of  Heaven,  The,  Thomp- 
son's, 175 

Household  Tales,  the  Grimms',  49 

Hugo,  Victor,  185 

Hume,  David,  215 

Hymns  Ancient  and  Modern,  192 


Idea  of  a  University,  The,  New- 
man's, 128 

Iliad,  The,  112,  165,  167 

Imitatione  Christi,  De,  154 

In  Memorlam,  Tennyson's,  64 

Inge,  Dean,  125 

Intellectual  Life,  The,  Hamerton 's, 
3,  26,  27 

Intimations  of  Immortality,  Words- 
worth's, 49 

Invisible  Playmate,  The,  William 
Canton's,  43 

Irish  R.M.,  The  Adventures  of  an, 
Somerville's  and  Ross's,  152 

Irwin,  Sidney, 136 

Isaiah,  172,  176,  182,  183 

Isaiah,  Book  of,  155,  162,  172 

Isthmian  Odes,  Pindar's,  no 


J 


Jansen,  86 

Jenkinson,  Mr.,  207,  208 

Job, 189,  190,  198 

Job,  Book  of,  156,  162,  182  et  seq. 

John  Bull,  Bottomley's,  208 

John,  St.,  of  Patmos,  7,  145,  171 

Johnson,   Samuel,   68,    100,    105, 

119,  146,  147,  164,  215,  217 
Jonson,  Ben,  115 
Joshua,  Book  o/,  53,  I53i  ^54 
Joubert,  132 
Jowett,  Benjamin,  209 
Jusserand,  J.  J.,  117 

K 

Keats,  John,  95,  98 

Keble,  John,  128 

King  Henry  IV,  Part  I,  79 

King  John,  79 

King  Lear,  18,  79,  184,  226 


248 


Index 


Kinglake,  Alexander  William,  220 

Kings,  Book  of,  156,  158 

Kings'    Treasuries,  Of,    Raskin's, 

219 
Knight's  Tale,  The,  79 


Lamb,  Charles,  115,  119,  225,  227 
Landor,  Walter  Savage,  92,  131, 

139.  145 
Latymer,    Lord    (F.    B.    Money- 

Coutts),  173,  183,  189,  206 
Laus  Veneris,  Swinburne's,  175 
Lear,  Edward,  124 
Lectures  on  Poetry,  Keble's,  128 
Leipsic,  University  of,  85 
Letters     on     a     Regicide     Peace, 

Burke's,  175 
Life  of  Crowley,  Johnson's,  217 
Life  of  Johnson,  Bosweirs,i74 
Lincoln,  Abraham,  139 
Literary  Study  of  the  Bible,  Moul- 

ton's,  183 
Lives  of  the  Lord  Chancellors,  John 

Campbell,  174 
Longinus,  167,  168,  169,  170,  239 

et  seq. 
Longinus  on  the  Sublime,  167,  168, 

169,  239  et  seq. 
Lou  vain.  University  of,  85 
Lowell,  James  Russell,  238 
Lucian,  121 

Luke,  St.,  Gospel  of,  182 
Lycidas,  185 

M 

Macaulay,  Lord,  21,  174,  176 

Macbeth,  79 

Macchiavelli,  222 

Maeterlinck,  196,  197 

Malherbe,  217 

Malory,  Sir  Thomas,  216 

Man  of  Law's  Tale,  The,  79 

Manfred,  175 

Map,  Walter,  174,  176 

Martin,  Violet,  152 

Marvell,  Andrew,  226 

Matthew,  Gospel  of  St.,  154 

Memories,  Irish,  Somerville's  and 

Ross's,  152 
Merchant  of  Venice,  The,  79 
Meredith,  George,  5,  123 
Microcosmography,  John  Earle's, 

50 


Mill,  John  Stuart,  105,  174 

Milton,  John,  30,  69,  70,  71,  73, 
105,  106,  124,  142,  147,  164, 
183,  186,  188,  189,  190,  191, 
192, 212 

Moliere,  89 

Money-Coutts,  F.  B.  (Lord  Laty- 
mer), 173,  183,  189,  206 

Montagu,  Basil,  238 

Moore,  Sturge,  139 

More,  Hannah,  216 

More,  Sir  Thomas,  128 

Morris,  William,  III 

Morte  d' Arthur,  Le,  174 

Motley,  92,  238 

Moulton,  Dr.  R.  G.,  173,  174, 179, 
183,  200 

Much  Ado  A  bout  Nothing,  79 

Myers,  F.  W.  H.,  186,  187 


N 


Newman,  John  Henry,  127,  128, 

146,  175.  233 
Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  30,  128 
Nicholas    V.,     Pope     (Tommaso 

Parentucelli) ,  236 
North,  Sir  Thomas,  138 
Notes  and  Queries,  113-I14 
Nun  Priest's  Tale,  The,  79 


O 


Ode  to  a  Grecian  Urn,  Keats's,  95, 

96 
Ode  to  a  Nightingale,  Keats's,  95, 

96,  97 
Ode  to  Evening,  CoUins's,  139 
Ode  to  Psyche,  Keats's,  95 
Odyssey,  The,  47,  165,  166,  167 
Of  Studies,  Bacon's,  24,  25,  26 
Omar,  22 

Omar  Khayydm,  FitzGerald's,  174 
On  Liberty,  John  Stuart  Mill's,  174 
On  the  Art  of  Writing,  1 
Ossian,  175 
Othello,  58,  79,  100 
Oxford,  University  of,  10,  ll,  81, 

84,  85,  86,  136 


Page,  238 

Paine,  Thomas,  215 

Paley,  Frederick,  no,  in,  138 

Palgrave,  Francis  Turner,  174 

Pall  Mall  Gazette,  The,  221,  222 


Index 


249 


Paradise  Lost,  22,  63,  64,  66,  69, 
142, 162, 174, 182,186,188, 189, 
190, 191, 192,206,212, 227, 228 

Paradise  Regained,  188,  192 

Paradiso,  The,  226 

Pardoner's  Tale,  The,  79 

Parentucelli,  Tommaso  (Pope 
Nicholas  V),  233 

Paris,  University  of,  83,  84 

Parlement  of  Foules,  The,  30,  79 

Pater,  Walter,  112,  168 

Patmore,  Coventry,  38 

Pattison,  Mark,  78 

Paul,  St.,  35,  67,  91,  92,  166,  182, 
186,  187 

Peele,  89 

Pericles,  139 

Perrault,  48,  124 

Pervigilium  Veneris,  The,  139 

Phaedo,  The,  166,  226,  233 

Phaedrus,  The,  132,  209 

Piers  Ploughman,  175,  176 

Pilgrim's  Progress,  The,  76 

Pindar,  63,  88,  no 

Plato,  9,  18,  28,  29,  30,  31,  40, 
125,  132,  166,  169, 209 

Plutarch,  138 

Poems  and  Ballads,  Swinburne's, 

174 
Poet's  Charter,   The,  Lord  Laty- 

mer's  (Money-Coutts),  183 
Poetics,  Aristotle's,  58,  65,  144 
Polonius,  FitzGerald's,  137 
Pope,  Alexander,  119,  147,    162, 

186, 215,  220 
Prince  Charming,  Perrault's,  124 
Principia,  Newton's,  128 
Prior,  Matthew,  115 
Prologue  to  the  Canterbury  Tales, 

The,  79,  106,  162,  182 
Prometheus  Bound,  .^Eschylus,  197, 

198,  203,  206 
Prometheus     Unbound,    Shelley's, 

66,  174,  185,  189,  190,  191 
Psalm  of  Life,  The,  62 
Psalm  cvii,  179,  180,  181 
Psalm  cxiv,  Milton's  Paraphrase 

of,  191 
Psalm  cxxxvi,  Milton's  Paraphrase 

of,  191 
Psalms,  The,  156,  159,  182 
Pythagoras,  30 

Q 

Quarles,  Francis,  1 75 


R 


Rashdall,  Hastings,  84 
Reade,  Charles,  212 
Reading  without  Tears,  43,  46 
Reason    of    Church    Government, 

Milton's,  188 
Reid,  Captain  Mayne,  154 
Religio      Medici,      Sir      Thomas 

Browne's,  212 
Republic,  Plato's,  18,  29 
Revelation  of  St.  John  the  Divine, 

The,  171 
Revellers,  Ameipsias,  23 
Rhoades,  James,  13,  124,  227,  230 
Rifle  Rangers,  The,  Mayne  Reid's, 

154 
Roberts,  Prof.  W.  Rhys,  169 
Ronsard,  217 

Ruskin,  John,  104,  154,  175,  219 
Ruth,  162,  182 


Sally,  Sally  Waters,  60 

Sainte-Beuve,  112,  224 

St.  Paul,  Myers's,  186,  187 

Samson  Agonistes,  192 

Sartor  Resartus,  Carlyle's,  43,  174 

Scalp  Hunters,  The,  Mayne  Reid's, 

154 
School  for  Scandal,  The,  100 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  48,  147 
Sermon  on  the  Mount,  The,  143 
Sermon  II  preached  at  Pauls  upon 

Christmas  Day,  in  the  Evening. 

1624,  Donne's,  loi 
Sermons,  Donne's,  175 
Sesame  and  Lilies,  Ruskin 's,  154, 

219 
S6vign6,  Madame  de,  220 
Shakespeare,  William,  4,  37,  73, 

74.  78,  79,  106,  109,  117,  131, 

138,  146,   163,   174,  225,  228, 

231 
Shelley,  89,  174,  189,  190,  191,218 
Sheridan,  Richard  Brinsley,  215 
Sicilian  Vine-Dresser,  The,  Sturge 

Moore's,  139 
Skeat,  Walter  W.,  in 
Smiles,  Samuel,  219 
Smith,  Adam,  63,  174,  176 
Socrates,  133,166,210,211,233,234 
Solomon,  176,  178 
Song  of  Songs,  157,  176,  178,  182, 

183 


250 


Index 


Sophocles,  125 
Spenser,  186 
Stead,  W.  J.,  221 
Steele,  Sir  Richard,  115,  2x5 
Stemhold,  Thomas,  192 
Sthenoboea,  Euripides,  23 
Stradivarius,  George  Eliot's,  15 
Strayed    Reveller,    Matthew    Ar- 
nold's, 139 
Stubbs,  114 

Sublimitate,  De,  Longinus,  167 
Suckling,  Sir  John,  102 
Swift,  Jonathan,  119,  146 
Swinburne,  Algernon  Charles,  174 


Table  Talk,  Johnson's,  147 

Task,  The,  Cowper's,  112 

Tasso,  189 

Tate,  Nahum,  192 

Taylor,  Edgar,  48 

Taylor,  Jane,  238 

Tempest,  The,  66,  79,  228,  229, 
230,231 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  Lord,  5,  200, 
217,  218 

Tertullian,  233 

Thackeray,  William  Makepeace, 
92,  164 

Theocritus,  139 

Thompson,  Francis,  175 

Thoughts  of  Divines  and  Philoso- 
phers, Basil  Montagu's,  238 

Thoughts  on  the  Present  Discon- 
tents, Burke's,  175 

Thucydides,  135 

Tintern  Abbey,  Wordsworth's,  171 

Todhunter,  Dr.,  105 

Traheme,  Thomas,  32,  49 

Training  of  the  Imagination,  The, 
Rhoades,  124 


Troilus,  79 

T3Tidale,  William,  109,  163 

U 
Utopia,  Mere's,  128 


Vaughan,  Henry,  217 
Vicar  of  Wakefield,  The,  162 
Vienna,  medical  school  of,  85 
Village  Labourer,   The,   Mr.  and 

Mrs.  Hammond's,  214 
Villon,  217 
Virgil,  13,  130,  189 
Voyages,  Hakluyl's,  174 
Vulgate,  The,  193 

W 

Walpole,  Sir  Spencer,  216 

Walton,  Isaak,  92,  164 

Wealth  of  Nations,  Adam  Smith's, 

_  174 

Wesley,  John,  68 

Wessobrunn,  235 

What    Is,    and    What   Might  Be, 

Holmes,  56,  57 
White,  Blanco,  35,  126 
Wilberforce,  216 
Wisdom,  Book  of,  162 
Wolfe,  General,  130 
Wordsworth,  William,  5,  31,  38, 

41.49,69,74,82,131,138,171, 

I74»  227,  233 
World's  Classics,  The,  154 
Wright,  Aldis,  106,  m 
Wyclif,  163 


Zadkiel,  156 
Zenobia,  239 


^  Selection  from  the 
Catalogue  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Complete  Catalogues  s«Bt 
on  application 


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